Friday, October 6, 2017


No matter who is pregnant,

nor how, within

the chalice of her body

the match is struck,

alight, and there blooms

the unspeakable goddess


in a tiny cake

of cells.

J. Pratt-Walter, © 2017

Friday, September 1, 2017



the hate out of our

collective hearts,


We are waiting, shimmering

in the crescent shadows

of hope.

We are in a profound


where sadness and fear are

living shadows

in the spirits of the people

so invisible there is no map

to shield them.

Grant the ones fainting

on the margins of

your town, your


the promise of being seen

before the roiling darkness


the light behind their

biding eyes.

J. Pratt-Walter,  8/2017

Saturday, April 8, 2017

This Hazy Path

Even if I walk down the thin gray road

of dementia, I will always recall

that I loved you.

Even you reading this now,

I might love you too, ambling

this hazy path.

I might remember kindnesses

we never got to do

for each other.

It takes the fading people like me

to say, right now, we don’t have

to make enemies of each other…

the gray will fade our differences

into a gradual peace.

J. Pratt-Walter
April 8, 2017

Sunday, October 2, 2016

You Are Needed

The world lay sprawled before her, there,

and there, careless as a yawn,

but she could not look ahead.

The past kept strolling by,

catching her up like wires bound

 to fenceposts of strife.

are needed,
a voice, your hands
two eyes, even the nose you despise”

sang the sand under

her feet, called the frogs, cried

the old ones nearly empty

with dementia.

She was sure the Earth had fallen away

from the hem of her feet, but

she did not realize

it flowed back together behind her in unity,

holding her up all along.

And that moment, her voice—

ah, but her true voice, 

her tomorrow eyes 

there, and there... 

And the world,

it made ready

to listen and to be seen.

J. Pratt-Walter, 10/2/2016

Wednesday, July 13, 2016


I saw you look, then

look away.  Sure, my pelvis

kept tilting me down the sidewalk,

but the orchestra in my center went


Dear face:  Keep pointing forward.

Do not confine me in

that frozen place


You looked, turned away…


I accept that glance as something.  

Brow down,

I measure the sidewalk

with my onwardness,

unseen wounds stepping my feet along.

J. Pratt-Walter, 7/8/2016

Thursday, June 23, 2016

Black Cat

I walk in shadows

like midnight's missing cat –

oh, to see the sun again, some

unmade day, to draw near you,

hungry for light. . .

but this thin lost animal

is silent as rests between the notes

of your songs,

an eclipse without a passage

to hope.

J. Pratt-Walter


If you don’t want

to march to another’s


don’t hand them

your drumsticks.

J. Pratt-Walter