Dan's Drivel

Dan... a guy who likes to write | Drivel… nonsense | Dan’s Drivel… what readers will come across while perusing this site… enjoy –

Poems - 2013

Snowflakes turn to rain,
little boy turns from window,
shoulders sag, drops his head

Thirty years later
he lifts it off the bar
catches sight of self in mirror

empty pram, he thinks to himself,
another dram, he drinks to himself,

His mind, a womb aborted
long before he gave his life
a chance to begin

Jan 29, 2013, 2:01 PM

Snowflakes fall like sawdust.
Who’s sculpting spring from
a block of frozen earth?

Feb 6, 2013, 10:37 AM

Snow cascades from
an overhanging tree branch
, a christening,
I walk on into the night

Feb 7, 2013, 9:40 AM


Life, a shoelace where time and time again
Young and old, blackredbrownyellowwhite,
Too left too right, too loose too tight
meet, greet, bring two sides of the same coin together,
tie up the history of the world –
walk on.

Feb 14, 2013, 7:57 PM

We waxed and waned beside the fire,
Two glowing embers –
the candle slowly melted away

Feb 21, 2013, 12:09 AM

This one inspired by that fabulous Taj Mahal song:

She caught the Kady
Was quickly out of my sight.
I took a mule
Tried to get back to her side.
Now I’ve no idea if she made it
Whether or not she’s alive
I’m still on the road
From day until night.
My what a woman
But not as fine as this ride.

Mar 9, 2013, 7:50 AM


Playing on Frost’s “A Time to Talk”:

[When I see a green light on a FB friend]
I don’t [click out or write another post]
No, not as there is a time to [chat].
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I [click open the little white box]
For a friendly visit.

Mar 9, 2013, 8:28 AM

“Maiden Voyage”

Waves trembled as
we sailed in the dark,
searching for a place to drop anchor.

When we did, we furled the white sail
and went below. No longer adrift,
we rocked back and forth through the night.

There beneath the moon and stars,
exploring the depths of the Milky Way.

Mar 19, 2013, 8:08 AM

Question marks; umbrellas to protect me from the reign –

Apr 4, 2013, 8:57 PM

trees, skeletons on a hillside
after three months of winter –
start to rise

Apr 30, 2013, 7:24 AM

I can’t see you anymore
touch you taste you hear the words you used to say.

My mind races back and you are there, here,
shimmering yet clear, a fog I get so easily lost in.

I can never let you, it go; don’t want to –
indelible, the events and memories of the past.

May 23, 2013, 9:47 AM

I arrived just in time
to watch the bride walk down the aisle.
Her dress, a brow raising ecru,
brought a knowing smile to my face.
I turned and walked away –
feeling slightly redeemed.

Jun 8, 2013, 8:26 AM

Willow tree drapes itself
Over a cracked sidewalk,
branches lilting in the breeze.

Somewhere beneath its green leaves
lies a patch of dry earth
waiting to be watered.

Jun 16, 2013, 1:04 PM

Appear. We are here. Disappear.
We are there. Where?

Jul 17, 2013, 7:13 AM

She sits beside the fire,
a pile of dry leaves and wood,
and smokes a cigarette.
Leaning forward, elbows on knees,
she only now realizes that
fire rhymes with pyre.

Why didn’t she burn his body here,
here where he spent so many summer nights
thinking, drinking, and watching the fire burn
instead of at the cemetery in the village.

She stands up, sighs,
flicks her cigarette stub onto the pile,
gets in her pick-up and drives.

Jul 31, 2013, 12:15 PM

Where do we go to when we die?
Where do we come from before we were born –

Aug 9, 2013, 7:53 PM

EMPTY NEST (for Brian & Melissa and others who sent their kid to college recently)

“How does it all happen so fast?”
he wondered as he
put the car in reverse.

She held his hand as he put it in drive
A promise to not let
The rest of their life go by so fast.

Sep 1, 2013, 9:42 PM

An elderly couple in bad weather (a true incident)

He held her arm as she
struggled to open her umbrella –
the rain never touched their smiles.

Sep 12, 2013, 1:28 PM

This one for the autumn equinox:

She walked into the bedroom,
pulled the curtains — two rains clouds — and started to cry.
Summer was over. Autumn rain would soon turn to snow.

Sep 21, 2013, 11:11 PM

They depart
In the various stages of their lives
— yellow, gold, orange, barn door red —
Some so curled and wrinkled and brown
You’d be forgiven to think
They never lived their life.

Sep 30, 2013, 7:17 AM


“Another Crossroad”

“Maybe I was wrong,” he thought,
looked back at her,
turned and walked away –

Oct 2, 2013, 6:52 AM

Shit was flying everywhere like sparks from welders’ tools.
They were putting something together up there with
drums and base. guitar. a solo siren’s voice. piano, too.
Grandpa banging grandma in the tool shed
couldn’t have made weirder, wilder, more wonderful sounds –

Oct 10, 2013, 6:24 AM

“The nudist complies with conformity”
Of course you’ve gotta wear pants! Shoes and shirt, too. But that’s where I draw the line. Belts, buttons, shoe laces, zippers; who needs ’em. They lock us in, confine us. Hell, even babies with their pins and stretchable tape get shackled to their own shit.
But I know. I know. We’ve all gotta conform.

Oct 13, 2013, 9:22 PM
“Lou Reed’s a legend,” I told my friend the other day.
He can’t even sing.
“B he can say.”
To that my friend just nodded –

Oct 28, 2013, 8:29 PM

Nov 5, 2013, 10:19 PM

“The other ‘woman’ at the bar”

She caught his eye
and as luck would have it he caught hers.
This being the 21st century,
she went over and introduced herself.
Sadly (and again, this being the 21st century),
he paid more attention to
whatever it was that was on the TV screen, so
didn’t notice when she walked away –

Nov 16, 2013, 11:33 PM

Maybe it’s true about
the calm before the storm, but
after the torrent of
making love with you, I
always find tranquillity –

Maybe there can be peace on Earth, the child wondered innocently while looking out at the season’s first snowfall.

At about the same time his father was kissing his wife good-bye, getting dressed, and walking down the stairs.

They put on their coats, grabbed their shotguns, walked out the door, and sunk their boots into the new fallen snow –

Nov 23, 2013, 7:29 AM

A Forgotten Ghost?

Those we’re too old to believe in
And those we can’t deny

The kind which appear in
memories and melodies
flamed by songs and books
and pictures and things cooked

A mention of places or words
Reminders of where I’ve been or what I’ve heard

All these
Constantly and unexpectedly
haunt, daunt, flaunt
their cast shadows taunt

They are
Apparitions from which I can not run
When I close my eyes the closer they become
Almost as real as the moment or memory itself
Like a dusty book taken down from an out of reach shelf

captivate, encapsulate, interrupt my current state,
frustrate, gyrate, dilate and refuse to migrate or capitulate

they seize control until time and space
erect a brace
and the present again overtakes

Allowing me
To finally shake free
from any such jarring reverie
I then wonder if at any time I inspire
that same longing desire

Or am I dead
In the hearts and heads
Of all those I have passed
In the past
If so, then I have no chance to last
Beyond this physical mass
I’ll be no more
Than ground up shards of ground up shards
of shattered glass.

Dust –

Well, the Wampanoag walked up to the water’s edge
to welcome the newcomers, a band of white folk on worn out ships
who had just completed their journey from the old world

The year was 1620 and the pilgrims disembarked,
ragged and weary no doubt
from what must have been a long and treacherous journey

Imagine the wonder both groups must have had
90 savages staring face to face with half as many wayward travelers

Anyway, both got on their way

The weather that winter was miserable
still, the Wampanoag did their part to help —
providing indigenous hospitality
to see the new arrivals through the season

Spring and summer came and went, and the new autumn
brought with it a plentiful bounty

It had been just about a year, more or less,
when that fateful day finally came around

The Wampanoag were there when the white men said,
“Thanks for the giving…
of this food, this drink, this welcome and this opportunity
to celebrate a long journey and longer settling in.”

All agreed and all got along
until three days later that is

The festivities came to an end
and soon after there weren’t many Wampanoag around
to say, “Thanks for the taking…
of our land, our lives, our kindness and native naiveté

Nov 28, 2013, 11:36 AM

Death is so permanent –

Nov 28, 2013, 9:48 PM

Again he stubs his toe
on the suitcase he’s kept tucked under the stairs
for so long he’s almost forgotten what’s inside.
But he hasn’t. In fact, he leaves it there as a reminder.
Just like the guitar in the corner that he doesn’t have
much time to play.
He sometimes finds time, though,
like when the baby screams or his wife cries. It’s then that he
picks it up and a few minutes later puts it back down,
looks over at the suitcase, shakes his head, sighs.
It’s all out of tune –

Dec 9, 2013, 4:46 PM


Poems - 2014

“Another Cigarette”

She gets up, kicks the dirt
(the way children kick cans, grown-ups kick habits, elders kick the bucket),
then sits back down again and kicks herself for
holding it in, hanging on,
and instead of getting away
hanging around –

“What goes around comes around. ”
He leaned back, tilted his head up,
took another drag from his cigarette,
sent a smoke ring floating her way.
She had no idea; was it something she had done or
was there something might be coming back his way?

Jan 7, 2014, 10:55 PM

“So that’s it?”
A rhetorical question
cast in bitter stone.

Jan 8, 2014, 4:11 PM

“Where ya’ goin’?”
Down the open road.
Will you come with or wait for me?
“The door is closing.”

Jan 10, 2014, 1:33 PM

And then it’s gone –
no stop, no start, no
just a constant forever playback of memories in the mind.

Jan 15, 2014, 6:33 AM

From the kitchen she looks out and sees him standing on the sidewalk. Wool coat; white hair – he still refuses to wear a hat in winter. “Where’s the man who used to wear leather and denim and ride a motorcycle? Now he just stands outside and watches snow fall. Does he ever think about the past?” He turns to her and smiles.

Jan 29, 2014, 7:20 AM

She threw out the trash last night, left him standing at the side of the road. “He was rottin’ on the couch, at the kitchen table; rotten in bed, too.” But for far too long she thought bad love was better than no love at all –

Jan 30, 2014, 12:16 PM


Wind whistles through the words –
notes on an old Blues harmonica

Feb 25, 2014, 8:06 AM


from onions rose
this city, a shoulder for
the hard working, hungry and poor.

Feb 27, 2014, 7:33 AM

EULOGY (Why do we wait?)

he comes alive
in word and warmth –
his corpse cold, his soul somewhere else

Feb 28, 2014, 11:09 AM

She got up,
dropped the cigarette
into an empty beer can
and kicked dirt onto the dying fire.

She looked across to where he was,
well, where he used to be
then spit into the ground
between her legs.

She kicked dirt over that
patch of scorched earth, too.

Mar 14, 2014, 7:44 AM

Your smile –
a lifeline
pulling me up

Mar 25, 2014, 6:43 AM


For two or three songs they danced
and were happy;
not enough to keep them together
but enough to keep them from
falling apart –

Apr 29, 2014, 12:52 PM

“Maybe it’s time.”

He got up, walked toward the fire, poured the last few drops of beer into it, and made his way back toward the house.

Lightning flashed across the sky.

May 9, 2014, 8:14 AM

Morning shadow
moves upstream –
fisherman on the Nile

May 23, 2014, 12:17 PM

“Future Reverie”

Starlit night
I turn my face away
from the campfire to listen to
voices calling for Dad.
Are those of my kids? Can’t be.
They’ve both grown up,
gotten on with their lives.

May 30, 2014, 4:12 PM

He said,
“How far would you like to go?”
She said,
“Where do you want to take me?”

Jul 26, 2014, 5:18 AM

still pond –
tabula rasa

Jul 28, 2014, 3:57 PM

Cygnet on a still pond,
storm clouds moving in –

Jul 29, 2014, 3:38 PM

Lighthouse –
flapping glint of
seagull’s wings

Sep 5, 2014, 10:08 PM

So many words when one will do: silence –

Sep 28, 2014, 2:59 AM

Willow tree weeps while sweeping –
spring, summer, its own leaves

Oct 14, 2014, 10:56 AM

I see my father in my son

Oct 25, 2014, 12:43 PM

Your face, half-lit
by a full moon –

nothing makes sense anymore

Nov 7, 2014, 4:33 AM

moss on a stone –
this is how
it ends

Nov 19, 2014, 3:12 PM

Eyes fall on
broken glass that glitters
in the car’s headlights at night.
I drive on. Initially enticing.
Better left untouched.
Sometimes I wish I more often thought like that. Sometimes.
My eyes look up at stars
which I know I’ll never touch…

Dec 26, 2014, 11:19 PM

Copper leaves skitter
and gather in the gutter
on the other side of the road.

They rustle on about
the changing of seasons,
the coming of winter,
and how much better summer was.

The story never changes
never gets old;
never stays young.

No matter how much
we tell ourselves (and others),
“It’ll be different next time around.”

Dec 30, 2014, 11:05 AM

Poems - 2015

trigger shaped moon –
I squeeze my eyes
to forget

Jan 23, 2015, 9:44 AM

Stella & Stan

Broken, a
beer bottle, her
nose, his
knuckle, their

Still they stay
That’s how things run
on this side of the tracks.

Feb 4, 2015, 6:24 PM

She said she saw dark shadows.
He said, “It’s just the wind.”
She quivered; he caressed.
Nature ran its course –

Feb 12, 2015, 1:14 PM

old photographs –
fires dance
beyond closed eyes

Feb 14, 2015, 7:53 AM

She was ready for change
He wanted to keep it the same
– both knew it couldn’t last

The more she tried to move on
The more he did to hang on
– it was no use

so he cut off her oxygen.
They both died inside.

Mar 1, 2015, 6:08 AM

“Afternoon Improv”

They began to play –
two cymbals,
slow moaning sax

Mar 10, 2015, 12:37 PM

Beneath sheets,
a desert where
once issued a spring –

Mar 12, 2015, 7:43 AM

There’s nothing quite like
The promise of a train whistle –

Apr 8, 2015, 6:10 PM

It was a moment –
a moment
from home, from the past.

I leaned back on the couch,
hands clasped
across my stomach
and dozed off to sleep.

My wife in the kitchen ironing,
Our younger son on the floor
in front of me drawing

the sounds of silence at work.

If I could have seen through closed eyelids
I’d have been able to see
my dad looking down at me.

Apr 14, 2015, 8:29 AM

dust kicks up –
and to dust
we return

Apr 28, 2015, 12:04 PM

quarter moon,
the curve of your thigh
follows me through the night –

May 7, 2015, 10:41 AM

tunnel swallows train –
do we ever really get
to where we’re going?

May 11, 2015, 11:22 AM

beauty: a simple, humble action to be observed –

May 21, 2015, 1:51 PM


She dug jazz,
he leaned classical,

yet when they started to play,
they quickly found a groove.

Piano keys and brass, a standing bass and bow,
they played on through the night.

It was all improv as they headed toward intermission
Once back in session, they found their groove again

in adagio and double time — block chords and allegros,
no matter the rhythm, they hit all the right notes.

Fusion was how they described the sounds they made that night.
Fusion, the name they bestowed on their wild child.

Jun 8, 2015, 7:41

AMButterfly alights
on cone flower –
a new season awaits

Jun 25, 2015, 7:17 AM

butterfly on
bike’s handlebars –
morning joy ride

Jun 30, 2015, 6:19 PM

My motto: Some people have to know everything; I don’t need to know anything –

Jul 2, 2015, 8:54 PM

“A thought while descending the escalator at Auchan”

We go back in time when mirrors face each other
We move forward at the same speed
Our reflections going on and on in two directions
The closer we look the further back we go

Our images, points on a seemingly straight line
We move away from one another, ourselves
not able to see the end or the beginning
Though we know both must be there

As I count the many “mes”
I try to hold on to the me in front of me
When I do
The past and future are gone
I am one… or maybe two

I go on.

Jul 3, 2015, 7:00 AM

They began to play –
two cymbals,
a slow moaning sax

Jul 7, 2015, 9:48 PM

The 5 am light from the rising sun
lights up one side of your face;
It’s the side I like to see

As the day moves on
the sun continues its trajectory,
the lighting changes and so do you

By sunset it has crossed the sky –
the other side of your face is seen
It’s a side I don’t so often like to see

If I could turn back time
or turn you around…
I wait until morning.

Aug 6, 2015, 7:06 AM

snow drifts, dark clouds,
and fog; you are there –

Aug 15, 2015, 8:41 PM

Their backs no longer bend
beneath the heavy red load
that sits atop their heads.

They are much stronger now

Standing straight, neck hairs bristle;
they face the wind, anticipating
another heavy load.

Aug 29, 2015, 7:50 AM

Untying Knots
He said, “Let’s not play that game again. It’s one where no one ever wins.”
She said, “At least it’s one where I’m not the only one to lose.”

Sep 4, 2015, 7:07 AM

There will be sorrow, he said
and I should have said the same
to my two sons

As we stand over your corpse
I think of you; I think of him,
think of them

“There will be sorrow,” I say,
They turn and walk away.

Sep 14, 2015, 7:04 AM

“Quiet Undulations”

Her head on his chest
a boat undulating on
the sea foam of his breathing

their whispers
rise and fall

then later
come to rest.

He is gone; she is here
A steady ocean
of tears.

Oct 1, 2015, 6:55 AM


Headstone –
you thought you
were so

Oct 2, 2015, 2:15 AM

“A sentence”

We go back to nothing
after the spit from a dick
and an egg (a rotten one
this time) collide,

and create something
out of nothing (only its
nothing out of
nothing) this time.

Oct 2, 2015, 9:09 AM

We curved like
commas in bed
intending to continue

Oct 2, 2015, 5:45 PM

“Communication Breakdown”

Full stop I say
how can you question
a comma at this time.

You exclaim, and I quote,

We run on and on,
a rhetorical fragment of
what we intend to be.

Oct 7, 2015, 9:20 PM

“The twinkle that fades”

When you’re young
your spirits rise
and your dick keeps gettin’ harder.

When you’re old
your spirits die,
your dick don’t work at all.

Man, I hope I never go limp.

Oct 7, 2015, 9:20 PM


“Build!” the big boss bellowed
and get to work they did
picking themselves up
and digging themselves out
of 30 years of war…
30 years of struggle to be free.

But it was only temporary.

For to be free means to not just dream
but to be and be able to be.

But the big boss thought differently
thus imposed his will
on all those who helped him
become big. He in turn turned

what was no longer a war into a conflict.
When the big boss closed the door

Liberty became one big prison.

He made everyone small. And one by one
they began to flee.

Dreams are the fountainhead of future realities.

You have crushed ours and now
the whole country is d(r)ying in the desert
and on the plateau.

We are not stepping down,
We are jumping off.

Oct 12, 2015, 12:49 AM

The impossible is possible –


again and again

and tears
again and again

tumble and fall

it is autumn
your face, your actions, your words
(again and again)

tell me so –

Oct 19, 2015, 12:56 AM

“Autumn Thought”

I am warmed
as I watch you undress

Standing naked,
late November, snow falls,

a fire burns inside –

Oct 19, 2015, 3:30 PM

a broken hammer,
and a smashed pumpkin
that resembled the vandal’s
little head.

I told you that bastard
wouldn’t get away with it
this time –

Oct 31, 2015, 7:36 AM

“Train Station Blues” (by you-know-who)

I watch that train a comin’
Iron rollin’ hard on iron
I said I watch that train keep on comin’
Iron pressin’ down on iron
My woman is in one of them cars
My mind it is a flyin’

That train keeps gettin’ closer
Like wake-up after a dream
Yeah, that train keeps gettin’ closer
like wake-up after a dream
Be here in a minute or two
I can hear a smokestack scream

Looks like it’s slowin’ down
But my heart just keeps racin’
Well now, it looks like it’s slowin’ down
Not my heart, it keeps a racin’
Rollin’ up toward the platform
My hands anticapacin –

That engine’s an iron rooster
Coal plumes out its comb
That ole’ engine’s an iron rooster
got coal comin’ out its comb
My girl’s probly standin’ up
Waitin’ to see me when she steps down

I see a trainload of people coming off
I see a trainload gettin’ on
There’s a whole lot of people gettin’ off
About the same amount getting’ on
My girl didn’t step out when it stopped
Better catch up to her at
The next train station down the line.

Nov 12, 2015, 5:50 AM

she took my hand
no small wonder
we flew so far, so wide, so high.
there on the bed,
we never left each other’s side –

Nov 26, 2015, 9:48 PM

or refrain –
I am human

Nov 29, 2015, 12:31 AM

“Don’t give in to fear,” he said as he left his house with bodyguards, got into his bullet-proof limousine, and drove away –

Dec 6, 2015, 11:26 PM

She left happiness behind
long before she died, pain as well –
unless you count memories,
all those damn memories;
it was just a matter of time.

Dec 15, 2015, 6:53

a child looks into the sky
with wonder
a father looks in her eyes
and wonders
a mother watches on

Wonder, I wonder,
what have we to teach
that hasn’t already been taught
learned to be forgotten

a light lights stars
we flicker and burn

a child looks into the sky
no wonder –

Dec 21, 2015, 10:06 AM

Poems - 2016

in a late night glass of champagne –
I drink you up

Jan 1, 2016, 9:05 AM

“Why our children’s children have children “

I watch leaves fall
try to understand
And snow, another sort of fall
descends into fertile ground;

a new mother grows.

What wonder as I better understand

The sun’s rise is nothing more than
a revolution, the evolution of
another day; the cycle –

new spring, new blossom,
new expanding universe

transformation begins

I, too, turn and change
wilting with each new season
fallow earth
circling another orb

A bloom that looms too long,
Accepting things I can’t fully understand

Where you sink further and further
into the past (I will one day join you)
a seed falls, germinates,
grass grows, a new tree

This, too, is part of life

And I remember why
our children’s children have children –

Jan 10, 2016, 8:41 AM

snowflakes fall, fall, fall

amass, get compressed

beneath the heels of jackboots

Jan 12, 2016, 9:59 PM

“Train Station Blues”

I watch that train a comin’
Iron rollin’ hard on iron
I said I watch that train keep comin’
Iron pressing down on iron
My woman is in one of them cars
My mind it is a flyin’

That train keeps gettin’ closer
Like wake-up after a dream
Yeah, that train keeps gettin’ closer
like wake-up after a dream
Be here in a minute or two
I can hear that smokestack scream

Looks like it’s slowin’ down
My heart just keeps a racin’
Well, it looks like its slowin’ down
Not my heart, it keeps on racin’
Rollin’ up toward the platform
My hands anticapacin –

That engine’s an iron rooster
Coal plumes out its comb
That ole’ engine’s an iron rooster
got coal coming out its comb
My girl’s probly standin’ up
Waitin’ to see me when she steps down

I see a trainload of people coming off
I see a trainload gettin’ on
There’s a whole lot of people gettin’ off
About the same amount getting’ on
My girl didn’t step out when it stopped
Better catch up to her at
The next train station down the line.

Jan 16, 2016, 11:08 PM

on both sides,
crunch of jackboot heels
march down the middle –

Feb 8, 2016, 6:38 AM

Gauloises, absinthe,
and you;
those were gay times.

Feb 24, 2016, 4:35 PM

drop of rain,
then you
poured down on me

Mar 2, 2016, 5:14 AM

On a day like today, “I rish I was Iwish” –

Mar 17, 2016, 6:48 AM

So many things can’t be taught, just learned –

Apr 6, 2016, 5:59 PM

She shivered around
a tree branch, waiting
for a leaf to bud –

Apr 7, 2016, 7:57 AM

You set me
ablaze with your lips

Smoldered me
with your legs
and arms and hips

May 4, 2016, 9:06 AM


May 15, 2016, 10:04 AM

“Used to”

We used to laugh
and live
and love
and lust
at life
for life
and one another
We used to

We used to
go out stay in
stay out go in
go here stay there
stay here go there
it made no matter
as long as we were

We used to
We used to
do all of that

We don’t anymore.
Not this; Not that
Not much of anything
even when we’re
with each other

And we’ve grown
used to it.

May 17, 2016, 8:56 AM

I don’t write to be heard
or (not) listened to;
I’ve got my kids for that.

In truth, it’s not about me
or what I’ve got to say.
Whose got time?

No, I write to get out, to escape.
It’s more like a disease, an addiction,
a bloodletting, if you will;
there’s something inside
and I’ve got to let it out.
Consider it an ejaculation, a release;
a release that helps me relax.

And I do
until the urge hits me unannounced again.
I can’t control it.

A junkie reaches for a needle
An alky to the bottle.
Not me. My fix is something that
has to get out, not in.

Yet once done, I feel just as relieved –

Jun 2, 2016, 10:38 PM

”Speaking in Tongues”

Our tongues
that once danced
like Japanese cranes
in one another’s mouths
they sernaded and soothed
and flitted and skimmed the
surface of one another’s skin
– two moist feathers that mingled and lingered

Our tongues
that once did a Tango
now only tangle, a barbed wire web
where two swordfish collide;
switchblades that circle, jab, stab,
then lick each other’s wounds
with salted tongues that sting
– two wet whips that lash out and crack

We still make one another swell and turn red,
now with rage instead of desire.

Jun 14, 2016, 8:45 AM

“My First Instrument”

It must have been around 6th grade
That’s about the time they introduce you
to the wind instruments, but for me it was already too late
I had my hands and heart and mind set on the flute
I’d play it in the morning and at night, sometimes even during the day
I was obsessed with the practice.

Then one day my mom walked in and let out a shriek,
but it had nothing to do with the sound. Nonetheless, I put my instrument down
and when she left I picked it back up and went right on playing.

I was never in a band or a trio
But I had my share of duets and a whole lot more solo shows
I played in bathrooms and on busses, indoors and outside,
sitting down, standing up, in a bed or in a chair
It made no difference if there was no audience
In my mind, all the world was there to see me play.

Jun 15, 2016, 8:30 AM

“In your case, granted…” I started to say.
She was quick to rebuff me;
“There’ll be no exceptions when it comes to
who I am and what I think and where I stand.”

Jun 30, 2016, 6:06 PM


“You never know, you know.”
I said, “I know”.

Jul 20, 2016, 9:12 AM

Your presence,
clouds giving depth
to an empty sky –

Aug 11, 2016, 11:04 PM

summer smolders
fallen leaves –

Aug 26, 2016, 4:28 PM

Two-faced moon,
I thought I
knew better

Sep 1, 2016, 9:41 PM

In the silence of their sleep
I see their childhood slipping away
each breath drawn in blown out
another leaf that disappears.

Where does time go and
where do children go when asleep?
I wonder.

We speak about cycles in nature, in life,
but one’s innocence and youth, once gone,
can never be reborn.

Sep 6, 2016, 2:11 AM

The teddy bear he sleeps with
will one day be a woman
or a man, for I am not naive nor
unaccepting of such choices one has made

they will come and go
,these women and men,
and may never return

They will give what the teddy bear has got;
stains and rips and tears.
They, too, will bare such scars.

And he, after each one leaves,
will stitch his life and bear
back together.

Sep 7, 2016, 6:45 AM

promises made –
dressed in white,
buried in black

Sep 18, 2016, 2:06 AM

running shadow
past the light
always falls behind

Sep 20, 2016, 5:58 AM

(in memory of Olivia Dahl)

deeper darkness falls
from night sky –
debris of memories

Sep 20, 2016, 6:08 AM

The niceties were there
like a lure
Your hips, the hook
I reached out, took hold,
and bit into your bait

Quick tug,
You reeled me in,
pulled me on board
then clubbed me


I lay lifeless
on your wet deck
beneath a net of
arms and legs and
unspooled hair

You dangled more bait
above me.
I was too tired,
too dried out to care.

Oct 5, 2016, 10:42 PM

autumn and
petals fall away
like people, colors, light.
darkness till
we are again presented
with a blank slate

Oct 10, 2016, 7:30 AM

Hey Mr. Dylan
Saw a bin full of your albums yesterday
and if you don’t mind me wondering
Please tell me, how is it that you’ve got so much to say?

I flipped through all those records
Then slowly flipped back
I took out one or two, looked through the titles,
And returned them to the rack

Highway 61 Revisited, Bringing it All Back Home
You’ve had one-hundred fifteen dreams
Seem so strange after twenty-two years
I’ve yet to have even one

You see this life I’ve been living
It’s been a little too much at ease
And if you don’t mind me saying
,Excuse me Bobby D.,
I ain’t never experienced the visions
You keep singing to me

Oct 14, 2016, 6:07 AM

Fast-Food America

Flash the 80s in my eyes
And watch me grow
A biodegradable bi-product
of a planned parenthood
that crumbled like the wall

Watch my mind expand
Like microwave popcorn
as I eat the news
off my satellite dish
-lunch time is no time
to read the newspaper

Move my appointments back
To make time for
a 3D re-run of “Generic Hospital”
Just don’t interrupt
To tell me the world
Will soon explode
I don’t have time to worry
about non-communicable diseases right now

I don’t wish to subscribe
to “A Lifetime Devoted to Shakespeare”
I already have insurance’ –
‘What’s that, my American Express
is over-limit; here, use my Visa –
I’ve just got to hear
the president snooze on compact disc’

By the way, it’s true
Everything gives you cancer
But don’t worry; just say ‘No, ‘ then

Lay me to rest
Beneath the “Golden Arches”
where c-c-coke is the surreal thing
not just a sugar substitute
Rush me out the door
in a Gucci paperbag
To make room for
a new improved model:
A kinder & gentler disposable diaper

Oct 15, 2016, 9:25 AM

Eddy of leaves kicks up,
a whirlwind of color and cacophony –
between the
beginning of green
and the
ending in ash
we swirl in circles
till we fall
silent and still.

Oct 17, 2016, 1:56 PM

Thin shaft of metal
cuts skin
I start to feel alive

They say junkies
feel something similar
when they stick
the needle in,

something about
pain relieving pain –
a sedative to survive

blood out, drug in
different ways to breathe

I go days
without eating or drinking
to repair the body,
bring it back to life

another ritual

a fix to fix
what has been
now always will be

Oct 20, 2016, 6:43 AM

“Beauty Bewitches Beast”

Funny how the siren song
silently hisses or serenades
and once under its spell
I rise.like a zombie,
instinctively must obey

Oct 21, 2016, 6:54 AM

autumn breeze –
a flock of birds responds
to its call

Oct 27, 2016, 7:15 PM

‘neath half moon –
new kind of Sphinx

Howl, silver line
where Ginsbourgh?
Were wolf

Werewolves in London
Werewolves in abundance
only one full moon

Urban Lumberjack –
barista by day
werewolf at night

full moon in mirror
I drop my razor,

in the woods –

Oct 30, 2016, 7:25 AM

Wave of applause
swirls through
audience of life

Maybe you see yourself
in such an eddy
of adulation.

Afloat upon
tide of buoyancy
with the occasional
crest and trough,

you navigate
the sea of years

Until you swell
and sink beneath
the ever-weathering
headstone of oblivion –

an albatross
turning you into
a ripple into silence.

Nov 10, 2016, 6:04 AM

headlights run parallel to
the mindless eye of a freight train –
deeper into night

Nov 22, 2016, 9:57 AM

Night sky’s
bright eye
flanked by
a retinue of stars –

Nov 22, 2016, 8:24 PM

Night sky’s
bright eye
flanked by
a retinue of stars –

Nov 22, 2016, 8:24 PM

“Speaking in Tongues”

Our tongues
that once danced
like Japanese cranes
in one another’s mouths
serenading, soothing
flitting and skimming the
surface of one another’s skin
– two moist feathers that mingled and lingered

Our tongues
that once did a Tango
now only tangle, a barbed wire web
where two swordfish collide;
switchblades that circle, jab, stab,
then lick each other’s wounds
with salted tongues that sting
– two wet whips that lash out and crack

We still make one another swell and turn hot,
now with rage instead of desire.

Nov 25, 2016, 1:48 AM.

He lived his life
in silence, then
let out a scream –

Nov 26, 2016, 10:19 AM

“Obit Page”

I read about
or you
only it was
or her
or them
in time
are all

Nov 29, 2016, 7:31 AM


Rabbit’s blood
seeps deep into
fresh snow
I start to think
about time,
it’s endlessness

In a church’s
candles flicker
a coin drops
in a metal box

Who is it for?

Further yonder
in the graveyard
down the hill a ways
a shadow walks
leaving footprints

Who is it?
Who are we?

Body of Christ
Blood of Christ
I hear a priest say
I pause to listen

We pass through this life
but one time
leaving scant traces
nothing sacred
not our body, not our blood

I think of this as

a hunter passes,
picks up rabbit,
walks home.

Dec 3, 2016, 10:52 AM

Typically not my kind of post, but Tallinn Square is pretty damn spectacular this time of year. While I didn’t take the pic and it probably isn’t from this year, it’s still an accurate depiction –

Dec 7, 2016, 7:01 PM

She was nice…

the page
was blank

the box
was empty

the walls
were bare

the room
was plain

and the
pretty painted vase
needed water

for the
that were dying.

Dec 9, 2016, 11:40 AM

Poems - 2017

The breath of a lone church goer
rises from the back pew like incense
as he kneels and whispers in prayer.

The darkness of the stone edifice
with deep red stain glass windows
conceals the chancel and sacristy door.

It is the same for those who confess
their sins. Even the eucharist lies locked away.
The chalice, too, veiled until its contents
become the blood of Christ.

so many truths and miracles and mysteries
amid the arches, apse, and altar.

But what of the man in the last pew
What about him as he sits in silence
in the nave which so closely
resembles naive.

He rises, crosses himself
before leaving and turns away,
away from the darkness and into
the light of day.

Jan 23, 2017, 9:26 PM

Something I often wonder
is it better to stay or get left behind
The more I think about
The more I see that I’m just biding my time

and I’m feeling used
and I’m feeling used
and I’m feeling used
and I’m feeling used
by you

I try to play my cards right
keep my hand right up close to my chest
When I look across the table
I start to feel that you are sharing my tell

and I’m feeling used
and I’m feeling used
and I’m feeling used
and I’m feeling used
by you

when the chips are down
you just get up and run
You fold your hand
because you think we’ve won enough
you think you’re a friend
well you know you’ve got none
I was the closest one to that
but I think i’ve had enough
of you

Now that the game is finished
you say you no longer need me around
You tried to run with our money
Played me like a fool and now you are skipping town

I see you must have forgotten
Though the deck was stacked, I still had a card up my sleeve
I’ve answered my first question
I’m standing here with a pistol, you are down on your knees

I was feeling used
I was feeling used
I was feeling used
But no more being abused
by you

Feb 1, 2017, 7:24 AM

scoff snarl scowl scream
how dare You chain me
to another day here

I kick against the pricks of time
only to every day awaken
to a new day where I alongside
the earth mourn and whither

Where is the fire of youth?
It has been stolen from me, by me
for no one else is to blame
and now it is gone

still here I molder
– up and down each day –
unable to reach the end,
just able to do it again

often I flew too close to the sun,
sometimes I sailed too close to the rocks
but never burned nor drowned

yet now I am bound
to a purgatory where

I exist
but do not live
I’ve expired
but do not die.

Feb 10, 2017, 7:09 AM

pulling weeds
I think of you, mom,
lovingly –

Jul 16, 2017, 9:47 PM

she found herself back at the fire,
same day, different year

it was always like this. probably always will be
she didn’t like change. maybe that’s what made it so hard

sitting where she always sat
she looked over at where he always used to be,
still could see him.
sometimes she’d even reach out to touch him
sometimes even started to say his name.

not this time

she looked back at the dying flames
, ashes and memories,
stood up, went inside.

longest day of the year?
for her, it was the darkest.

Sep 5, 2017, 2:45 PM

Potted tree
in the park. How small
we really are

Sep 11, 2017, 4:30 PM

“Neighbors” (a true story)

The lights are no longer on
in the apartment across the street, or if so, rarely.

They used to burn bright late into the evening
people gathered, the plants grew green.

There are no plants inside anymore, nor people,
just objects, an occasional shadow that moves. Memories?

I look into the windows, see right in, see right through, see
the past; remember what was even while looking at what is.

The door to the balcony remains shut,
the potted evergreen outside has died.

Oct 1, 2017, 6:59 AM

leaf in autumn breeze –
an infant
struggles to stand

Oct 2, 2017, 7:37 PM

She sat by the fire
on an upturned log;

it certainly wasn’t a stump
with roots and still
promise of life.

No, this was part of the trunk,
part of the tree he had cut down
long ago.

The log, like so much here, was dead.

She often wondered, often with remorse,
how she hung on
how she herself remained with the living.
A stump with no energy to move on.

Oct 3, 2017, 4:57 AM

silver schooner sails through
the whitecaps
of the night time sky

Oct 7, 2017, 2:46 PM

“Travelling Salesman”

The sun
sinks and disappears
another suitcase of

Oct 10, 2017, 8:40 AM

autumn in my closet –
I choose an auburn slip
that will fall

Oct 18, 2017, 7:41 PM

The color of leaves
rich and deep; I think of you
six feet under

Oct 23, 2017, 8:26 PM

Her left hand shivered

as she reached into her purse;

I thought it was for her gloves, it was so cold.

Instead, she pulled out a ciggy
lifted it her to her lips —
them trembling out of synch with her two fingers —
lit it and inhaled.

Her soft smile as she exhaled,
a tremor subsiding into a sigh.

Nov 4, 2017, 8:49 AM

“Freight Train Coffin Blues”

There’s a freight train in the distance
Expecting all of us to get on board
There’s a freight train in the distance
Expecting all of us to get on board
Hell, I ain’t ready to take that trip
I ain’t in no rush to see the Lord

That train’s a one-way ticket
The conductor’s all dressed in black
That train’s a one-way ticket
The conductor’s all dressed in black
Once he punches your ticket
There’s no turning round, no coming back

I see the tracks below my feet
I look up and see the sky
I see the tracks below my feet
I look up and see the sky
Don’t know which way I’m going
Just know right now’s no time to die

See the smoke rise on the horizon
Looks like the reaper’s on his way here
See the smoke rise on the horizon
Looks like the reaper’s on his way here
I just now hear the whistle
Must mean it’s getting very near

Those boxcars look like coffins
back to front here they come
Those boxcars look like coffins
back to front here they come
There best not be an empty one
Lord, I’m not ready to get in one.

Nov 6, 2017, 7:01 AM

She closed the door then lit a candle –
the sigh of night
leaning on window panes

Nov 7, 2017, 5:57 AM

We speak so much about autumn as the dying season –
the falling of leaves, the nakedness of trees,
and the descending of silence, so much silence

forests grow quiet as darkness longer falls.

We, too, turn in, close in, become more and more silent, still; internal. Not eternal.
We lose our light. We are aware. This is what brings me to life.

I know the fields are barren,
I know they are covered in snow. I also

know what seems so cold can be so warm. I nurture this.
It’s in this emptiness where so much can grow.

Yes, its true,
We speak so much about autumn as the dying season
Yet I, myself, I
feel so much alive

Nov 24, 2017, 6:29 PM

Come late November
the leaves are all brown

They lie tamped into the road or ground into the grass
like fading memories
or a nonagenarian we’d rather not remember
better yet, forget

In the oven, something smolders – parchment paper –

a different type of leaf that gets discarded.

So much crumbling, dying, being eaten away.

What to do? What else to expect?

After all,
it’s soon December. It is time.
Bent blades lie lifeless, dead.

Nov 28, 2017, 9:38 PM

On nights like this
when a picture perfect moon
hangs outside my window

I gaze and wonder as it slowly moves on,
a gallery of stars stretched on the sky’s black canvas –

Nov 30, 2017, 12:36 PM

A Bit of Flash Fiction

Unsettled by the uncharacteristic silence of his son, the father inquired, “How was training? How was school? Anything on your mind?” It was a short series of such questions, the kind many parents ask, though this time delivered with more concern due to the silence and lack of typical enthusiasm from his son.

They were in the car and driving back home. The father reached over and took his son’s hand. His son squeezed. It was a typical gesture, something his father often did, a way to show connection and love and care.

“Are you tired? Hungry? Something on your mind? I’m here to listen when you’re ready.” Another short set of questions that went unanswered or else with a one-word reply.

They drove along in silence. Though not awkward, it was unusual. The silence. They continued driving.

About ten minutes later when they were just about home, the son turned to his father, broke the silence and said, “Thanks for listening, dad.”

His father quickly realized he was the only one unsettled.

Mar 3, 2017, 7:18 AM

“A Brutal Truth”

I live life on this side of the horizon
where I can see all that is before me

Though I don’t know what lies on the other side
I do know and am in no rush to get there

I live on what is right in front of me
rearview mirror a reflection, headlights not too bright

I live life here, now, where I am, who I am
And choose not to put off feelings or plans

I do not dream for dreams are just delays
I live, create memories instead

All the same, I do not delude myself
nor do I live in regret

I see the grey and the black and the red
and the blue, always the blue

and I jump up or dive in
because all are part of life –
my life, and yours

I learn as I grow older, aware of the horizon
in the distance yet near – I do not seek it

I know it is there. which is why
I try to never be there, just here, now

a brutal truth? with you, without you
it does not matter, I am here, it is now –

The day is sunny and we are both alive

Mar 4, 2017, 1:37 PM

Moon in the suitcase
of a cloud
travelling through night –

Mar 5, 2017, 7:52 AM

“Like Angkor Wat”

child’s arms wrap
round a parent’s side
like branches of a
strangler fig tree
clinging to and climbing ’round
a temple

symbiotic the ways in which both

the ways a child worships and adores
the ways a parent worships, adores

till the parent crumbles and lies still
and there is nothing on which
the child can entwine

… temples and trees

They say one day the trees will
take over the temples at Angkor Wat

What they don’t say,

One day the nature of a child
will take over, though never replace,
the presence of a parent.

Mar 5, 2017, 10:07 AM

topsoil washes downhill
into a river,
then the salted sea

Mar 7, 2017, 6:57 AM

wind in the sail
of a felucca –
she ripples in his arms

Mar 9, 2017, 9:43 PM

many spend their time looking for a needle in a haystack; there are those, though, who look to unleash the haystack burrowed within each needle –

Mar 19, 2017, 5:33 AM

“Think outside the box,” they say.
“What box?” is my reply –

Mar 23, 2017, 11:49 PM

I was no longer there
and she looked back…

Mar 25, 2017, 10:33 PM

My friend, my friend
42 came to an end
my friend
and grandma at 97
can’t sit or stand
and all she wants to do
is die –

Apr 2, 2017, 4:51 PM

sun doing battle
with clouds. I am warmed
by your persistence –

Apr 2, 2017, 5:36 PM

My memory – jogged –
by a
crumpled picture of you

Apr 16, 2017, 6:14 PM

Along with the
memories and monument,
a single child remains

Apr 20, 2017, 8:09 PM

homeless man
walks through a graveyard,
he feels at home

May 9, 2017, 7:06 AM

On my mom and dad’s 64th anniversary:


The gestures are my dad
as is the way I sometimes speak
in broken unclear sentences
where half the story is left out.
The tactility, too, comes from him,
Hands and arms open and full of love

My mom bequeathed to me
optimism, a positive spirit, and a certain
que sera, sera that I’ve come close to
, yet have never quite been able to, parallelling
in genuineness, which perhaps will come with age

These are gifts I’ve been given
These are gifts I share
sometimes knowingly, oftentimes not.
They are part of me, part of who I am.

My mom, my dad –
and all who shaped them are, along with me,
all who shape my sons.

At times I look at them and ask myself,
What part of my parents will they inherit from me
and pass on to their heirs?

May 16, 2017, 12:43 PM

Maybe the ghost could have been a friend… maybe
I saw it, then it disappeared. Gone.
But where? But why?

I have memories, good and bad
Try to let go of the bad, hold on to the good
I hold on. Then what? I let go. Then what?

After a while it’s all the same. Why?

Alone in a rocking chair, I hear the creak of time
A rusting clock
Where friends end and ghosts begin
Who’s to say which has more relevance. Who’s to say.

The memory or the real;
They visit me then disappear –

Jun 3, 2017, 1:10 PM

They say you lack depth.
They gather this from
the way you speak.
I listen, look into your eyes,
think otherwise –

Jun 14, 2017, 4:54 AM

ice clouds float
on Disko Bay –
beneath the midnight sun

Jun 22, 2017, 8:08 PM

in time
we see the world,
a straight line

yet seasons like cycles

and where do

we measure our lives
in years –
day after day
one after the other
a series of straight dots
mark time

dominoes .

the revolution of clocks
and earth

all the while
the swinging
of the moon

pulls tides

to and fro
ebb and flow

we end

 Jul 9, 2017, 9:19

Poems - 2018

The Illinois River cuts its way across the bicep of Illinois
a scarline from near Joliet to just northwest of St. Louis. It
picks up passengers on its way to the Mississippi –
the Mackinaw, Spoon, Sangamon, and La Moine
all contribute to its journey.

The Illinois was a river long before it was a state; at least
150 years before. The name is Native American,
comes from the Illiniwek people, a collection of
Algonquin Indian tribes, such as the Cahokia, Kaskaskia,
Michigamea, Moingwena, Peoria and Tamaroa.

The state itself was named by French explorers in the late 1600’s.
They met the natives in the Illinois River valley; Jesuits came soon after.
The meaning of Illinois is murky, common belief being Illiniwek which means
“best people”. Other say that’s a poor translation; I agree, though we’ve got
our share of great women and men who are from or have lived here.

A microcosm of the country. it’s a crossroads to be sure. And I
like it. I like where I am from; particularly the more accurate meaning of
the state’s name: “those who speak in the ordinary way.” It captures
what it means to be Midwestern, what it means to be from Illinois.

Jan 14, 2018, 5:19 PM


“A Paradox”

I watch loved ones die,
family and close friends,
look up and say to myself,
“what a beautiful day today” –

Jan 24, 2018, 2:44 PM

Tonight how I wish the dust of stars was not wiped clean by tomorrow.

Feb 7, 2018, 6:46 AM

“Just look around. Look at this. Look at us.” He threw his arms up and fumed, “Nothing matters anymore. None of this means anything.” She did just that. She looked around the room, looked straight at him, started to sag, then stood up straight. “If none of this means anything, then all of this is nothing.” She picked up her purse, handed him the flat keys, and walked out the door.

Mar 11, 2018, 4:35 PM

we curl like end quotes,
my arm around you,
after making love

Mar 12, 2018, 5:35 AM

And So the Separation Begins

I saw that my friend is turning 52 today. It struck me. We’ve known one another since 7th grade. We hardly speak any more; our lives have taken separate paths. Yet thanks to not-so-anymore new-fangled technology, we can still follow each other’s doings.

52. Wow. When my dad turned 52, I was “on the edge of 17” to quote the Stevie Nicks’ song. Now I’m soon 52, and I feel like I’m nearing another edge, a much grimmer one.

In my parents’ eyes – they are in their 80s – 50-year-olds are youngsters. In my own eyes, 52 moves me one step further away from 50 and another step closer to 60. I will be 52 in five months. I will be 60 eight years after that. It seems far away, but when I look back, it seems much closer. It’s as if the port of 50 is fading into the past. I’m moving closer to the edge of the world and hoping it is round. Just think about all those other decades left behind.

When it came to those other decades, I didn’t give them any thought. I never felt those cringes or fears of leaving another ten years behind. That might change when I hit 60. Why? I’m not sure. In my 60s is when I should retire. Way back in the ’60s is when I was born.

So it’s weird, almost disconcerting this feeling since seeing that my friend turns 52 today. He and I are still much closer to 50, yet I sense that a separation has begun. I wonder if this is what people feel when they say something like, I can’t believe I’m turning 30. I can’t believe I’m almost 40.

Turning 50 I can understand. It’s the half-way point, the proverbial peak. As for 60, yikes. That’s beyond the precipice. That’s already well on the way to the other side of this world.

Mar 16, 2018, 6:25 AM

ground fog
tells the early riser
change is on the way

such discord, lack of distant vision
is the essence of transformation
as we wrestle with what is
and what is to be

disclarity leading to clarity
a passageway, perhaps,

one that Charon charters
every day

as for the sleeper,
maybe such knowledge
is not needed

there is no fog
here or there
or anywhere

all is clear when moving without thinking,
in one direction without question
where no fog
ever has, ever will

Apr 27, 2018, 4:35 PM

sliver moon
in the fist of a cloud –
she still finds ways to see you

Apr 29, 2018, 7:41 AM

we kissed, our tongues
two striking matches
trying to start a fire –

Jun 4, 2018, 7:20 AM

My son nearing 12

He still turns and
smiles and waves
as he lets go of my hand and
leaps out of the car –

I hurriedly sketch
an image in my mind,
fully aware of
the fleeting exuberance of youth

Jun 10, 2018, 9:08 AM


The wind no longer blows so hard
and thunder and lightning are rare;
the same, too, can be said about
the lasting presence of sun or clouds.

Thus, what remains? What has it all become?

I look around; the grass is green, maybe even greener,
and the little river still runs
But doesn’t rage, thankfully, as before

it’s stones have worn ever smooth, there is no jagged edge.
and the path leading there has disappeared
beneath the overgrowth, a covering of the past.

There are no floods or droughts, just calm
before storms that no longer come,
as for snow, not even flurries anymore

and the falling of leaves, their budding –
both used to be inevitable. Used to.

Where have the seasons gone? Whatever happened to change?
And extremes? Extreme heat. Extreme cold.

I don’t burn; neither do I shiver from the cold

Not anymore. These days
the temperature does not fluctuate;
remains the same… mild.

But I no longer complain –
I don’t want to live through more climate change

Jun 12, 2018, 8:13 PM


we wail
until we whisper –
then silence.

Jun 19, 2018, 8:07 AM

When the switch turned on
the vacuum started
we got sucked in –
the world grew suddenly dark.

Jun 20, 2018, 6:21 PM

I see the half moon
sinking into the horizon
and of all the thoughts in the world
sadly, I think about me –

Jul 19, 2018, 11:18 PM

“Here we are”

you and I and
the others
here we are
you and I
with all the others

we have it all
you and I and
all the others

so it seems
You and I,
the others
so it seems

call it connection
what we have
and maybe it is
you and I and all the others
and maybe it is

we are together
you and I
and all the others
together in being alone
joined without touching

you, I, all the others

maybe we are

you and I and all the others

nourished while still starving
here we are

Aug 24, 2018, 2:04 PM

What color’s the sky
on the other side
of the blue parapluie –

Sep 11, 2018, 9:39 PM

In the gloaming
as darkness quickly descends,
a rabbit dashes past
the shadow of a fox –

Sep 17, 2018, 9:05 AM

The suitcases still feel heavy in my hands
long after I have set them down.

The weight does not stop there,
it extends beyond my physical being; leaves
imprints, grooves that though unseen remain.

I can no longer hold on
I tell myself
I can no longer hold on

I eye the heavy totes, hesitate to
pick them up again, or ever open them,
though at some point I must. We all must.

No matter the load, at some point
we all must pick up our baggage and move on.

Oct 5, 2018, 8:10 AM

It is autumn and
the elders sit on a park bench
wishing it was spring –

Oct 8, 2018, 2:38 PM

She cups his face like a vessel,
one that holds tears,
some of which are her own

Possibly it’s more like a bowl,
a bowl being quite quotidian,
reflective of their ordinary lives

Then again,
could it be that her hands are a vase
One that holds the wilting remains of
so much that now fades

Why not then, perhaps even an urn,
after all, what she holds right now
reminds her, and possibly even him,
of all that has died

Or maybe, just maybe, what she cups
is a chalice, a form of faith in rebirth
because isn’t that what love
so often requires?

With this,
she lifts her hands high
whispers an oft-repeated psalm
Then tilts them toward her

Praying for the cascade of tears
to turn regret into forgiveness,
that they both may be
absolved of their many sins

Oct 12, 2018, 10:17 AM


“A Paradox”

They paused at the crossroads,
both tired and burdened by their heavy loads;
one dropped to one knee, looked to the sky to gather strength
the other moved on, looked inside the self to find faith.

Oct 16, 2018, 6:09 AM


branches lie broken
beneath ripped and raw autumn trees
like Liston lying listlessly
beneath the towering Ali –

Oct 28, 2018, 9:32 AM

They waited for the water
before placing the flower into the vase –
so much bloomed beyond that moment

Oct 29, 2018, 6:33 AM

Choice was all the rage. People couldn’t get enough of it. In fact, there was so much choice that people were running out of choices. The government seized this moment. It was a country built on choice. Thus, they reasoned that without any more choices, there wasn’t much reason for the country to exist. So, they got creative. They would create new categories of choice.
It all started relatively harmlessly about a half century ago with an increasing variety of consumer choices in food, merchandise, and media. Thanks to plastic surgery a decade or two after that, people could alter their looks. That was the turning point. There was no turning back.
Once plastic surgery became affordable and widespread, and culturally acceptable, what with bigger lips and bigger boobs, the choices once again seemed endless. Even men started getting in on it. Butts tightened, flabs of fat cut off, sagging jowls lifted, wrinkles removed. Who needed a fountain of youth? Cosmetic surgery held the key. Or so it seemed. But within a few years, not even that afforded enough choice.
Once again, the government seized the moment.
What if people could choose who they are? Their race? Their gender? Their age? Their sexuality? A whole new market was born. So was a new slogan: #Ifeel.
The #Ifeel movement was unstoppable. How you felt inside was how you wanted to be addressed outside. I feel gay. I feel Hispanic. I feel transgender. I feel 42. Every day was a new day, a new way to feel. And others had to address you not in the way you looked but how you felt. Even if you had breasts, a high-pitched voice, long hair, black skin and wore a skirt, you could still claim to feel like a white man and expect to be addressed as He or She or better yet, ‘Ze”. The other person just had to ask. And if they didn’t ask and guessed wrong, well, the fault was on them.
The choices were endless and interchangeable. It was a boon for the government. The #Ifeel movement appealed to everyone.
However, some professionals like psychologists and counsellors were aghast. If people could express to the world how they feel at any given moment, what was their use as therapists. Medical doctors were also concerned. Phrases such as “Tell me how you feel” or “How are you feeling today?” took on a whole new meaning. These doctors were ill-equipped for such potential replies.
This desire and inalienable right for choice soon meant that children as young as five could make their own choice about who they were and how they felt. They could choose their gender, their age, their race. And parents had to acquiesce. It was the law.
As for those parents who refused, the government stepped in. If parents wouldn’t let their kids choose, then the children could choose new parents.
Just like that, society was turned upside down. Choice became a bad choice. But stopping it was a choice no one wanted to make. The political risk was too high.

Nov 10, 2018, 10:43 AM

A magic carpet of clouds
escorts the moon
across the nighttime sky –

Dec 6, 2018, 6:54 AM


a leaf passes by, a
fellow traveler, fully aware
that its path is never chosen
yet whose destination is
already foreseen –

Dec 11, 2018, 6:12 AM


A spin on the Seven Ages of Man… enjoy:

Soon after waking they both say,

“Let’s play house

And they dash into

A makeshift kitchen

Where they pretend to cook

And drink and eat and

Time does not matter

Much later in they day they say,

“Let’s buy a house

And they dream of

One with many rooms

Maybe two floors, a garage

And garden

With windows and doors

And what seems like too soon after

Each says,

“Let’s move house,

And they look for one that’s

Smaller, just a bed

Will do; one for her

And one for him.

One tucked the other in

Then was put in bed by someone other.

Dec 13, 2018, 8:55 AM

For years he shivered at the thought of death,
then rested peacefully as he was lowered into the ground –

Dec 18, 2018, 10:44 AM

Poems - 2019

Hope, if ever there was a toothier wolf in sheep’s clothing –

Jan 5, 2019, 6:07 PM

“It’s Free Improv These Days”

I no longer call to talk to my dad –

His hearing is shot
His memory is full of holes
And his ability to follow a line of thought
Is increasingly decreasing

No, these days I call to hear his voice

Just listen to
its emotion and the sound for its own sake

Sometimes I prompt him
With something to let him know I’m there
Fully aware
That someday (ever sooner)

the music of his voice will stop.

Jan 6, 2019, 7:10 AM

snow falls like champagne,

on a dark night –

Jan 14, 2019, 7:54 PM


We move further
from the fulcrum
each on our own side –

the more we keep balance
the more we grow apart

Jan 18, 2019, 3:41 PM


“Understanding Men”

To leave this earth,

To wend one’s way through a forest of Birches

And having chosen one, then climb;

this is at some point

the quest of every boy.

To lift off, ascend its mottled trunk

And never climb back down.

But climb down they must

for seasons change, as does the call of voices

– mother, school, work, love, and family

Through these voices the path

ceases to wend, begins to straighten

and we go on.

But every now and again

Another voice calls, one that like the wind

wraps around and pulls us backwards

And though we might no longer climb

We while away time in our mind or maybe,

Feeling rejuvenated, actually

Walk back to the forest, let our eyes rise

To the canopy of Birch trees… and wonder.

Jan 19, 2019, 7:22 AM

“In praise of Stoics”

Soft cobalt blue light
hovers between the early morning sky and fresh snow

an Illusion?

Yet entirely natural and real
This is nothing to believe in,
Just immerse oneself and be –

Jan 24, 2019, 10:30 AM

“The paradox of trees”

They sat through the seasons looking at trees,

Same day. Same time. Same park bench.

Even their clothes stayed the same,

save for a coat in winter or sun glasses in summer.

All around them was changing, particularly the trees.

Still, they sat rooted to their routine,

long ago deciding to remain unchanged.

Feb 7, 2019, 10:29 PM


How many leaves will fall
now that summer no longer comes?
Tell me, what’s the point of spring?

These days, it’s just winter winds and snow.
Now that you are gone –

Feb 18, 2019, 12:44 PM


“Looking out my kitchen window now”

The spectre of night
with its lantern aglow
slowly descends
the rising staircase of morning –

Feb 21, 2019, 7:14 AM

Winter’s talons
cling to
buildings’ eaves

Waiting to let go,
take flight,
fly into spring

Mar 7, 2019, 10:47 AM

She sits beside the window and waits

for her husband to come home
her kids to visit
her grandchildren to return her call

but none of this will happen. can.
there’s always a reason why

still she sits and waits
never fully accepting that
none of them is coming for dinner.

Mar 16, 2019, 8:38 AM

They say that opposites attract,
but you and I, coming from opposite sides of the track,
keep moving further apart –

Apr 7, 2019, 8:18 AM


Practice makes Permanent… what a more precise turn of phrase –

Apr 17, 2019, 6:34 PM


Her skirt swayed like wheatgrass
in the breeze
of my imaginings –

Apr 20, 2019, 1:25 PM

wee bairns in the field,
who laugh at the setting sun,
ignore mothers’ calls

May 5, 2019, 12:18 PM


funny how those who took
so many pieces of my heart
continue creating who I am –

May 14, 2019, 7:58 AM

“The Color of Color”

There’s so much blue in the red
, be it love or hate,
mixed with white
that given time
ages into grey and then, inevitably,
black and so much more blue –

May 14, 2019, 8:35 PM


At the precipice
where dreams too often linger,
we too often die –

May 24, 2019, 6:51 AM

I look at dirt,
think about those
who feel the need to
leave a legacy –

Jul 20, 2019, 11:32 AM

“Each at Their Crossroads”

They parted ways,
the child looking forward to what was to come
the parents looking back at what was

It would be years, if ever,
for the child to understand the meaning of this moment

As for the parents,
did they ever fully move on

Jul 29, 2019, 12:22 AM

“on the balcony across the street” (or “after the divorce”)

year after year
the potted pine tree
slowly dies –

Aug 3, 2019, 11:11 PM


Then came the time when what was in my rearview mirror became longer than that which the headlights showed ahead –

Aug 10, 2019, 5:21 PM


The headlights no longer shine so brightly
the road ahead gets shorter each new mile
I knew that. We all know that. I guess
I’m just more conscious of it now.

The horizon, well, it’s black. The direction,
more or less straight ahead, a straight shot from here
as it should be, as it is. On this road,
there’s only one destination, just different ways to arrive.

I keep on driving, look out for road signs, warning signs,
avert my eyes from the mileposts and billboards
don’t want to get lost or turned around, so I
avoid turn-offs and other roadside distractions

I’m aware of the taillights growing longer in the distance, an
ever-fading streak of red; maybe it’s time, maybe my memory
I look in the rearview mirror, sometimes too long,
try to forget where I’m going, try to forget where I am.

Aug 11, 2019, 8:53 AM

He bided his time
hanging paintings, tried to
find joy in decorating
the present with his past

fragments, memories,
reminders of where he’d been,
what he’d seen, what he’d done,
maybe even who he’d been

enough empty walls, still there
wasn’t enough room, so
he could never really settle into
where he was or where he was going

He hammered away, all the while wondering if
hanging really was easier than reframing –

Aug 13, 2019, 5:50 PM

The conversation carried on
later into the night, only then
it was without words –

Aug 30, 2019, 10:14 AM

on a bed of dry leaves
she tosses dead flowers
and waits for winter to come –

Sep 12, 2019, 11:32 AM

a paradox… don’t say anything and just wait if you want to hear what your kids have to say –

Sep 29, 2019, 6:43 PM

leaves fall,
89; the tree
is not yet bare –

Oct 7, 2019, 10:02 AM

full moon,
eye of coal-stained
freight train running through
tunnel of night –

Oct 16, 2019, 7:00 AM


“Aren’t we a bit like that, maybe just”

after some time,
the leaf lets go, leaves
home and makes its way
to the sidewalk or the side of the road

Was it a gust of wind, a rake, maybe just
the way it fell

It sits and waits or
it hitches a ride
on the heel of
a shoe, a boot, the wheel
of a car, maybe just
the wind, and moves on,

further down the road or
a new town, somewhere where
it’s never been, maybe just

dropped off in a building, a garage
somewhere dry and warm, maybe just

the middle of the road; or, maybe just

never picked up at all – lost or left behind,
maybe just, buried in snow, whatever, it’s
gone, whether or not it ever moved along.

Oct 23, 2019, 7:46 AM


She found solace in starlight
at midnight, that fulcrum
between the clouds of days –

Oct 27, 2019, 10:08 AM


Grandma told me stories. My mother did too… fabric of the past. My dad added his own yarns, threads that keep us all together. Sometimes late at night after dinner and a few drinks, my brother and I darn our own tales to fill in the holes of those no longer here.

And if we’re lucky, our kids stick around and sew these tattered tales into their suitcase of memories, toting them while still leaving space to weave their own patterns into this patchwork of the past that they will pass on as hand-me-downs to their kids –

Nov 11, 2019, 8:30 PM

The hands that once

picked us up, held us up, put us back down

so we could grow on our own

those, the hands of our mother and father,

hands that toiled and taught,

carried that which must have sometimes

felt like the weight of the world –

I watch those hands now

tremble beneath the weight of an empty cup,

shake like falling leaves in wind,

and slowly turn to parchment.

Nov 19, 2019, 6:53 AM


Later that night
we let go of the past
emptied our trash,
so to speak,

on the curbside
flushed, we each went
our own way –

Nov 23, 2019, 11:33 PM

I follow the path of the moon,
witness its waxing and waning;
once empty, I am whole again –

Nov 30, 2019, 6:30 AM


Poems - 2020

full moon,
a miner’s lamp
leading us to light –

Feb 11, 2020, 5:51 AM


She dug jazz,
he leaned classical,

yet when they started to play,
they quickly found a groove.

Piano keys and brass, standing bass and bow,
they played on through the night.

It was all improv as they headed toward intermission
Once back in session, they found their groove again

in adagio and double-time — block chords and allegros,
no matter the rhythm, they hit all the right notes.

Fusion was how they described the sounds they made that night.
Fusion kept them together, the name they bestowed upon their child.

Updated Feb 17, 2020, 7:14 PM

Feb 17, 2020, 7:14 PM

Having a little fun with The Knack’s “My Sharona”:

Ooh my hidden virus, virus
When you gonna show some signs, Corona
Ooh, you make my nose run, cough and sneeze some
I’ve gotta hide all of your signs, Corona

I don’t wear a mask, don’t take days off, social fear,
I don’t care, I go out, I have got no concern about

Vi, Vi, Vi, Vi, Vi – Achoo
Vi vi vi virus Corona

Spreading to all regions under the sun
From a market in Wuhan, Corona
I will not panic, no hysterics
Won’t hide away to keep away from virus Corona

I don’t wear a mask, don’t take days off, social fear,
I don’t care, I go out, I have got no concern about

Vi, Vi, Vi, Vi, Vi – Achoo
Vi vi vi virus Corona
Vi vi vi virus Corona

When you gonna infect me, infect me,
Is it just a matter of time, Corona
Or is it a conspiracy, conspiracy
Just another trick up someone’s sleeve, Corona

I don’t wear a mask, don’t take days off, social fear,
I don’t care, I go out, I have got no concern about

Vi, Vi, Vi, Vi, Vi – Achoo
V, V, V, V, V, V, V, Vi, Vi, Vi, Vi, Vi – Achoo

Vi vi vi virus Corona
Vi vi vi virus Corona
Vi vi vi virus Corona
Vi vi vi virus Corona

Achoooooo – oooo, virus Corona
Achoooooo – oooo, virus Corona
Achoooooo – oooo, virus Corona

Feb 29, 2020, 3:20 PM


leaves wait
for the wind
to make them move

while I sit still
in spite of inspiration –

Mar 2, 2020, 12:50 AM

too much time spent in the past;
too little time spent in the present –

Mar 5, 2020, 1:51 PM

“A Roller Coaster Named Sisyphus”

strap me in,
let’s start this ride,
steep hill ahead
then dips and curves
this should be wild

let’s get this thing going
I’m ready to fly
wind and speed,
hands up, I scream,
ready to feel alive

I hear the chain grind
pulling us up high
wait we’re rolling backwards
gonna give it another try

I hear the chain grind
pulling us up high
wait we’re rolling backwards
gonna give it another try

I hear the chain grind
pulling us up high
wait we’re rolling backwards
gonna try one more time

we’re heading back up
that chain taking
the cars up high
we’re almost at the top
fall back, going nowhere,

how long till we get off this ride?

Apr 4, 2020, 8:20 AM

“April 2020”

From my street-level flat, I look out an open window and watch the silence.
It is early spring and the oak trees that line the avenue
Have started sprouting leaves like Argus having started to open all his eyes.
Funny how time marches on Despite the world being so still.

As a soft breeze touches my face, I wonder about where I am, where we are, at this time.
The rush of life has subsided yet still we feel unsettled
More time, less bustle; isn’t this what so many have been seeking?
Another time, perhaps; different circumstances, for sure.

A passerby on the footpath far beyond arms’ reach sneezes and I am startled,
make quickly to the sink, where I wash my hands and quickly start to think, look into the mirror
wonder, How could something that was once so human now set off such an alarm.

Apr 6, 2020, 8:34 AM

In the garden of night,
He pushed his hoe deeper into fresh soil,
First making sure it was moist, fertile ground,
What better way to ensure the richness of the earth?

Now ready, he planted seed, the loam of soft moonlight
Gently tamping the area surrounding where
The seed had been lain.

Apr 10, 2020, 10:46 AM

**Pigeon Blues**

I catch a glimpse of Mardi Gras
on the neck of a pigeon strutting past
and think of you.

Like you, the bird is
oblivious to me, also like you, probably.doesn’t
even know what the colors mean.

What has happened to New Orleans, I ask myself
every time I return. Truth is, it hasn’t been that often,
maybe not often enough. I still wonder. Just like I wonder…

I’m on the wrong side of 50, whatever.that means.
I don’t complain. I now see the horizon for what it really is.
How did I get here? Where am I going?

Jazz, joy. Blues, sad. It’s in the colors, I suppose.

The singers I used to see on stage are no longer here; one by one
they have moved on to their own big easy.
Some friends, as well. But the memories, like photos, are timeless.

I hum a tune from one of them, for all of them. Look out at the lake. Wonder;
Like New Orleans, I am sinking. I think of
Louis Armstrong and Congo Square, my mind still traveling
as I cross Sedgwick, sort of near where you used to live.

Meanwhile, a pigeon alights on a statue in Lincoln Park. Maybe it’s the same one.
I ask myself, how do they fly so far, walk so much?.I stop, look up,
step inside St. Michael’s. Kneeling. Thinking of you; I pray.

May 12, 2020, 5:55 PM

The couple stands in awe

while facing Mayan ruins

and contemplating the strength needed

to build them

Never pausing once to marvel at

what they have built and endured

with little more than a vow

over fifty years ago –

May 16, 2020, 8:40 AM

I don’t believe in pedestals,

don’t put anyone on them

no place for places upon which

people can rise above

As for statues

I have the same view

No one need be idolized or canonized

such permanence for what?

And busts are such a bust; I mean

What’s the point of a head

without a body?

a human without flaws?

Jun 13, 2020, 5:31 AM

My lyrics, Velle’s voice and guitar:

There was a girl
She had a dream
she let it go
When she was young
she met a man
they settled down
they had a child
she never went out

And she waits
and she dreams
but it seems
some things
are never meant to be

There was a woman
gave up her dream
lived for her child
and her man
she never really
had her own life
always a mom,
sometimes a wife

(whisper) she had a dream (x4)

Time moves fast,
Time moves slow
Life goes on,
we grow old

And she waits
and she dreams
but it seems
some things
are never meant to be

And the sad fact
We cannot go back
And yea she knows that
But life still goes on
In her bright heart
That’s where hope starts
And her self-esteem

She has a dream just like you and me

Updated Jul 17, 2020, 5:48 PM

Jul 17, 2020, 5:47 PM


“Another Fish Story”

The past runs out like a fishing reel
that can’t be stopped

fish has taken hook and line
and left me with the sinker – another
one has gotten away

“Salao” I curse once again and grudgingly

move from the water’s edge, wade in
knee-high, waist-high, I’m in up to my neck
then stop, watch it move further, faster away

Teach a man to fish, the proverb goes
ain’t that the story of America.

I’ve cast my line at nearly every opportunity
But no one’s ever told me (or perhaps I never listened)
how hard it is to reel any of them in.

Jul 29, 2020, 8:00 AM

An American Paradox:
When it comes to war, Americans can really come together, yet when it comes to looking after one another, we can really tear ourselves apart –

Aug 19, 2020, 4:12 AM

“Autumn Fog”

Hag’s hair gets tangled down in the hollow
the ethereal ‘tween where earth and air collide
the Witching Hour begins

so much of the invisible
comes into sight this time of year

breath becomes a visible veil

scurry and store; gather up,
hurry now; the looming moon wanes

Screech owl shatters the nighttime sky,
shadows cross the valley,
hoarfrost covered grass crackles

Footsteps. Who is there?
Old man winter slowly crosses the land

Witches congregate, cackle ’round a cauldron
peer in, scry.

Pray thee, one and all

Darkness fades;
Mist lifts;
Soon snowfall;

One last shiver before the shutters close –

Sep 9, 2020, 9:54 AM

“Every time’s a last time”

Hello-Good bye-Hi
the last word always good-bye
Then I fly

And the next time I return you will be gone

So take my hello and hold it, don’t let it go
And I’ll take our hug and last good-bye
store it in my mind

and call it back from memory every time
I need a reason to smile, a reason to smile
a reason to smile and cry.

Sep 19, 2020, 7:01 AM

“is there?”

a perfect partner
lover, family member, friend –
other than yourself

Oct 6, 2020, 12:59 PM

storm clouds gathered
in my head
and in my heart
while standing at your grave,
but the rain
it never came –

Nov 12, 2020, 2:01 PM

Looking back is futile unless to reassess for the future –

Nov 24, 2020, 5:57 AM

“Full Circle”

He let go of my hand
A little later I became a man,
After a long while
It was he who became a child –

Dec 19, 2020, 3:15 PM

Poems - 2021

While looking through the window, we reflect:
What we saw, what we said;
What we did, what we felt

While looking through the window, we project:
What we’ll see, what we’ll say;
What we’ll do, what we’ll feel

While looking through the window, so much of life passes by

Jan 9, 2021, 7:06 AM


“Open for debate” (a prose poem)

It’s pissing down rain from the wet, dirty dishrag grey of an April sky. Wind and whatever else slash at the back of a mangy, mangled, matted mutt that stares straight ahead before limping cross the road to stick its nose against the bloated carcass of a crow lying stiff and on its side.

Opportunity, the dog might have thought before getting so close. It straggles on, which is more than can be said for the bird.

Who’s got it worse? one might wonder.

Meanwhile, a truck barrels down the straight stretch of highway,
flashing headlights for fun, blowing the airhorn, the driver howls,
swerves left
clips the mutt’s hindleg, dog does its best to keep balance against truck’s turbulence and rain splash,
swerves right
turns dead bird into roadkill – a dirty black spot on wet pavement,

eighteen wheels and tons of steel
straightens out
rumbles further on, rain increasing, obstructing the driver’s view as he motors deeper into night.

Mangled dog. Crushed carcass. Driver driven by darkness.

Who’s got it worse, I ask again.
Then correct myself… Who’s got it the worst? –

Jan 27, 2021, 8:45 PM

Beneath the waning of what was yesterday a full moon,
I start a new day

wax and wane, wax and wane
like a sickle or pendulum
back and forth I go, to and fro
never-ending till the end

I think of Sisyphus, Prometheus,
one of Kafka’s short stories

We are all imprisoned,
tied down by things we see and
those we don’t always see.

Needled by time, our ever-present prison guard;
the horizon beyond the hill,
a nevernotyetwilleverbe paid promissory note from the gods.

Mar 3, 2021, 6:36 AM


Her parting lips –
a cave opening, an invitation
to temporarily shelter
from loneliness

Mar 13, 2021, 9:43 AM


I looked into the murk of muck
where the vestiges of time and ageing live.
nothing clear down there. just the
ever presence of reality.

I stared deeper into the murk of muck
where the vestiges of time and ageing lurk.
nothing clear down there. just the
ever presence of mortality.

Mar 27, 2021, 2:40 PM


We spend too much of our time with one eye closed and a lampshade over our head. And when the lampshade does get taken off, we even more often either close the second eye or else turn and look the other way –

Mar 30, 2021, 9:46 PM


She held me down, steadied me
through the turbulent time of late teens and early twenties.
She was my anchor, let me sway
back and forth, yet not drift to sea

At the same time, she was my periscope
looking out, looking afar
to where I should be heading, where she should be heading too
Different directions, but on a similar path

Decades later, though we’ve both gone our own ways,
Our paths still sometimes cross. And when not,

I return to the sea; stare out, look across, and watch
the waves that tumble as they come, disappear as they go.

She is out there, I know. Like the salted sea itself,
I can see her, smell her, taste her, feel her.

Apr 3, 2021, 1:07 AM

This space was meant for two
The bed, the couch, the kitchen table with two chairs

We filled it with much, which over time
has become mementos
though we didn’t know it at the time

trinkets and keepsakes stored away in photo albums and my mind.
Both bring back memories I visit sometimes.

I fill the space with them, but
the space is still here; full with
an emptiness that can’t be filled.

The bed, the couch, the kitchen table with two chairs
This space was meant for two.

Where are you?

Apr 14, 2021, 10:16 AM

I stepped through
the mirror of what if,
discovered a new dimension of
who I am –

Apr 16, 2021, 6:41 AM

“The traveler speaks of journeys”

At a bar on Khao San Road, a crossroads,
he looked her up and down and asked,
“How long you been on the road? Tell me where you’ve been?”

“Eight months,” she said in that fatigued tone
every traveler gets when asked a similar question so often,
then started reeling off in rote a list of
cities and sites; countries and familiar destinations.

He stopped her in mid-sentence.
“That’s not what I’m asking. Tell me where you’ve been.”

Taken aback, it took her a moment to understand;
to understand what travelling really meant –

Apr 23, 2021, 10:37 AM

“The oscitance of life”

the drawn-out yawn
as we arch and stretch, retract,
close our eyes, crumble, disappear.

May 28, 2021, 7:33 AM


The sentence of life always – and
I do mean always – starts with a (capital) L
Living and

carries on no matter the amount (or
absence) of commas or conjunctions, whether a
fragment or run-on, add or (if you will)
subtracting superlatives

– this

(no matter how long/short the sentence nor
how it is viewed by you/others…
universal, irrevocable, till death do us)

and here I must punctuate!?:;
(including, no,) regardless of
memories –

always, ever after (happily or not)

with a full

Jun 14, 2021, 8:43 AM

“Your laugh”

With supplication, they asked what Heaven sounds like
They wondered of its tone
Harps and Angel’s voices?
Perhaps the satisfied sigh of souls?

And then they asked about wine and whiskey
Were there other elixirs to imbibe?
I hearkened to the champagne serenade
pouring forth from you, from deep inside

My love, to uncork your laughter like from a bottle
To be drenched in the bubbles of that sound

To drink it in as if from a flute glass
Intoxicate me with the effervescent
sound of your seraphic song.

Oct 26, 2021, 6:56 PM


Sin in peace*,
the wizened elder looked up and proclaimed,

But do not murder or maim; in word, in action, emotion, or in deed

That said, the elder said,
live and love and lust and learn.

Leave guilt for the puritan and heathen.
Leave desire to be remembered as a martyr

Find your peace in the between, find your pleasure in the here & now

Reflect. yes. Repent. no.

Who are we/thee/ye to judge, be judged by we/thee/ye?

The pearly gate is nothing more than a Lily of the Valley
pushing forth through rich earth above us
once we are gone.

For now, the elder said while walking onward,
Go forth among the living. Proclaim.

Oct 30, 2021, 12:31 PM

Needle eye, through which you thread a string
Keyhole I peak through, where I weave my dream
You with your pincushion, me with my key
Seamstress & Locksmith
In your chair, on my knee –

Nov 6, 2021, 12:36 PM

twig snaps at twilight
shatters forest quietude –
must be getting home

Nov 14, 2021, 1:06 PM

Poems - 2022

I live life in the grey,
that area where the lines of
black and white
frequently diverge
I’m comfortable knowing
that I don’t know most of the time

In the grey is where I grow
I thrive in its sooty hues
uncertainty is where possibility thrives
the heartbeat of living, the heartbeat of life

I live life in the grey
that area where the lines of
black and white
rarely converge
I’m secure
in not always being sure

In the grey, I know where I stand; aware that
few things are black, few things are white.
few things are clear or unclear
other than a clear knowledge of acknowledging that

Muslin wraps itself
round penumbra of full moon –
Stars will sleep tonight

lean and warm
like a shaft of light –
she beacons

“A sign of wisdom”
The crow’s feet
that bracket my eyes
like hyphenated ellipses;
what I’ve seen… what is yet to be seen –

We were pictures then
of what we hoped
we would be

a still life in smiles
the artists might call them…
insects in amber to geologists

The pictures
they stay the same
Our lives always change

so rarely into the way
the people in the pictures
thought they would be

Whatever became of
what we wanted to become?
Do we remember?

Ah, if only pictures could speak.
Would we want to hear
what they have to say?

When to the ground I go,
may my ashes
become angel’s dust,
the soil from which
a flower or new soul
may grow –

Needle eye, through which you thread a string
Keyhole I peak through, where I weave my dream
You with your pincushion, me with my key
Seamstress & Locksmith
In your chair, on my knees

Sin in peace,
the wizened elder looked up and proclaimed,

But do not murder or maim; in word, in action, emotion, or in deed

That said, the elder said,
live and love and lust and learn.

Leave guilt for the puritan and heathen.
Leave behind desire to be remembered as a martyr

Find your peace in the in-between, find your pleasure in the here & now

Reflect. yes. Repent. no.

Eden is nothing more than a Lily of the Valley
pushing forth through rich earth above us
once we are gone.

For now, the elder said while walking onward,
Go forth among the living. Proclaim.

Starlight of fresh snow
sifts through skeletons of trees –
settles into sleep

twig snaps at twilight
shatters forest quietude –
must be getting home

They say that if you
look into the sun too long
you’ll go blind. However,
the more I look, the more I see
even when it hurts –

So many afraid of what’s next
I’m only afraid of what I’ll miss –

I’m not afraid of dying,
I am afraid of no longer living

her smile rides a

rising tide of sorrow
her eyes, balloons
tethered to the crests
of undulating sadness

rise and fall, rise and fall
When will the longing subside?

Her cascading hair, a golden rope of sorts,

In her tower, she waits and waits, waits
to be told she can come down

Poems - 2023

“life’s circle”

His hand shakes as he raises his glass
slowly to his lips
I think of my sons
when they were just about one –

A song with no words…
bare, stripped down, stark,
words missing, gone, so long;
pure and sheer like a
… tree with no leaves

A paradox: as the rockets and buildings fall, the people stand stronger, straighter… more tall –

Death & Heartbreak
lightning bolt or thunderclap;
maybe the slow, steady patter
of repeating days & nights

Stars and planets, The Milky Way,
Other galaxies too numerous to count & contemplate,
Universes too impossible to comprehend

I scratch my head and wonder –

The air we breathe. The water we drink.
Earth. And sky.

There must be something less overwhelming
To which we can hold on

A buoy, a rope, an outstretched hand?

Maybe something even warmer
to nourish us, keep us alive, say –

A mother’s milk, her womb,
the umbilical cord
from which it emerges;

the original lifeline to
where we all began.

Dusk –
light migrates, and I,
I drift off to sleep

“Why is it always the women?”
He sent me away
Said don’t come back
Take the kids with you
Soon I’ll make contact

Don’t tell me where you’re going
I don’t need to know now
Just get somewhere safe
Mouths shut, heads down

Now, go on, get out
get out while you can
So I grabbed the kids
off we ran

Let’s go, Let’s go
Before it’s too late
Hurry now
Before they close the gate

We left, not knowing
Would we see him again
Off we went away
from the oncoming reign

I thought of Armegeddon
I thought about Lot
Still, I looked back
Knew I wouldn’t turn to salt

Why is it always the women?
Why is it always the men?

War is hell
We tell our children
Yet we’re in one
again and again

upside down, downside up,
either way, can’t breathe

be it the pearls at the bottom of the sea
or those high in the sky

makes no difference

I’ll dive or jump
leap or sink

just to be with you

She wrapped her arm in his arm
& everything
came together again.

The past. The present. The future
had no presence
in the now of
where they were

sandbox, sandbox
can I come and play
sandbox, sandbox
won’t you let me stay

grains beneath my fingernails, grains inside my clothes
the tide is coming in; the waves are moving close

sandbox, sandbox
let me come and play
sandbox, sandbox
don’t keep me at bay

the castle’s been erected; the bucket’s on the tower
the moat is filling up; the drawbridge has been lowered

sandbox, sandbox
let me in, let’s play
sandbox, sandbox
don’t push me away

The tide is rising quickly, the horse is at the gate
the castle walls are crumbling; grab the pommel ‘fore too late –
a lightning bolt,
thunderclap, the
opening of a newborn’s eyes –

autumn chill;
we move in,
birds move on –

Aren’t we all like leaves
(or the five stages of dying)
The first stage of dying begins when we are born
on the tree and growing green
The second stage sets us free. We gain color,
let go, find ourselves in the breeze
The third stage is when we get beat;
hit the ground, get trampled on and grieve
The fourth stage finds us in a stairwell
Blown there from off the street
The fifth stage sweeps us up, discards us,
soon to be replaced by something more green

“What a (sad) joke”
The professor spoke
and spoke and spoke,
The students wrote
and wrote and wrote
Come time for the test
while reviewing their notes
They didn’t have to think
They just had to quote by rote
the notes they wrote
from the professor who spoke
and spoke and spoke…

The burden of life

Carpe, if you will
But if you carpe too much
When will you have time to enjoy

Before Diem
(this day, each day, every day)
Takes hold of you instead

The burden, if you insist,
Falls squarely on you…
Seize with ease

For life is to be lived
Not conquered –

Nothing you (read everything I) do
Is (wrong) you are (oh so)
Right left (behind) and center (

The highs and lows of parenting

… ebb and flow, highs and lows

One is sinking, one is soaring
One is wasting, one is storing
And I don’t know who to follow

One is drowning, one is flying
One’s given up, the other keeps trying
And I don’t know who to follow

It’s parenting
They say favorites are not allowed
Even so.
Then again, I know,
through the highs and lows
We gotta keep trying, can’t let go

…. ebb and flow, highs and lows

The sea is deep, the sky is high
One can’t swim, the other can fly
And I don’t know who to follow

some stay too close some go too far
some touch rock bottom some reach the stars
And I don’t know who to follow

…. ebb and flow, highs and lows

They’re out of reach, can’t hold on to both
Someone come back, I’m running out of rope
And I’m feeling hollow, don’t know who to follow

and I’m still here with a kite string and a fishing pole
letting each line run out, not sure which one to let go
And I’m feeling hollow, don’t know who to follow

…. ebb and flow, highs and lows
…. feeling hollow, don’t know who to follow

Temporary, like rainbows
And bright stars, sunbeams and a full moon
Everything that matters disappears
Then comes back
Everything that reappears, disappears one more time

Temporary, like lilacs
And light clouds, soap bubbles and morning dew
Everything that matters disappears
Then comes back
Everything that reappears, disappears one more time

Temporary, like sandcastles
And fresh snow, chalk drawings and the smell of cut grass,
Everything that matters disappears
Then comes back
Everything that reappears, disappears one more time

Temporary, like your smile; the only things
That linger forever are memories and scars –

“I give thanks to…”

Kids today
Those words echo with scorn
generation after generation
hit a canyon wall and bounce back with the phrase,
Life was so much better then.
I ask, When?

I say kids today in exaltation
whether this today or that today or a today that has not yet come
BiggerStrongerFasterSmarter; more aware and much better than
the generations slash generations slash generations before them.

Sure, each new generation of kids has its flaws. Nevertheless,
I give thanks to the generations of kids before me and those coming after me
moving the world forward

I may not always agree (I don’t always move that fast),
but at one point get on board and say to one and all,
get on board, too, even if you don’t agree… or else get left behind.

This world of ours ain’t perfect
(nor was it in the past despite what your memory might tell you),
but it keeps getting better and better
thanks to generation after generation of
kids today –

sunlight moves across rooftops,
a hoover sucking up the frost
white becomes black, night becomes day

It’s the opposite on sidewalks
As the sunrays erase the shade
darkness is chased away

Rooftops not yet white
Sidewalks wrapped in black
Nothing is what it seems