Sunday, July 21, 2019



This is the way it all will end
Not with a whimper
Nor guarded whisper
But a boom clang
Pan to the floor crash rattle
Blast a hole in the drywall
Ball through the glass bang
Everything smashed
While only on the inside
Do the walls crumble
Without a sound down
And I'm standing in rubble 
While I sweep
The shards of glass 
Poised to pierce
the unprepared hide
On the outside




Glass half full
Sipping wine by the pale glow
Of a half moon.
Those were the good old times
Full circle quarters and silver dimes
Change for a tip
It’s all we had left
Heads or tails,
Stay or go,
Anyone could love you 
In that sliver of bursting June moon;
Visage radiant,
Freckles like browned pebbles 
In the bed of a winding stream
Flashing in the tree refracted moonlight
Half past four, happy hour slow
But I am the one
You’ll loathe and love
I am the one to praise and damn,
Make your stomach clench 
Drive you insane
Make everything fall into place
But I am also
the one who writes for you
who will find the words as I
wander through the rain,
in the gray contused dawn,
Unsuspecting soul,
your face heavier and drawn.
trudging off to market:
milk for the kids
low on detergent
(it's raining again
it's raining again)
I see you as before 
I see you as when
I see you as next then
fully realized
you seem surprised
to see me now
Half way home,
Half happy, half pleasured;
Paradoxes of Zeno
It always feels like a full fledged pain.
I pour myself and I pour myself
But there’s a hole in the bottom;
A heart always half empty
reserved for all that's to come


Tuesday, July 16, 2019



I saw you post that quote 
On your Facebook page
(Inspirational lavender paisley background,
Slanted challenging italics)
You’re free to enhance the font
But the other side of fear 
Isn’t always what you want.
There are sharks circling in those dark waters.
Better to remain in the boat
It isn’t enough to peg everything on hope.
Just stay right here
Bide your time and wait
I know I'm just talking to myself.
You’ve already dived in and
are swimming for shore.
The fins are closing fast,
I can’t look.



Lone Flower

You were a flower of ravishing beauty
colors of kaleidoscopic complexity
shimmering, shadowed, sun-splashed
and there you were----- suddenly, 
standing in the middle of my path

I was halfway home
back bent beneath the
weight of time and duty,
portents of resignation
just around the next bend.
My heart was heavy
and my hands were full
and there you were;
defiant, singular, untrammeled
as if you’d chosen that spot 
to bloom for me alone

I stopped and reached for you
(Of course) 
They say the one true flower
blooms but one time
for one man
and so I had to stop for you 
that one time
in that one place
and reach for you 
rising from that dusty path.
I damaged a few petals
(in the process)
that fell to the dusty road.
I even bent your stem
and I am so sorry.
I should have known better,
I am so very sorry.
But you will bloom again
I know that you will bloom again 

The best that can be said 
is that I didn't try to steal your heart,
rip you roots and all
from the earth
to press between the pages 
of this old dusty book.
I had sense enough to only touch,
that one time, in that one place
which was the wrong time 
and the wrong road-----
But it couldn’t be helped.
For this flower was meant for me!
If only for one day
along a well trod path
that will never be the same.
I don’t know anything about flowers;
can’t tell a dahlia from a daffodil
from a bleeding heart from an orchid
from a longing from a loving
but this is the thing I know
as sure as a smile when
caught in a summer shower.

My solace is a place
outside of time
beyond the edges of maps.
Here is a field of flowers
swaying in the wind,
straining to receive the sun’s rays.
I will find you there
in the chapter I have written,
when my loads are lighter
when my work is done,
my little flower,
the hundreds of ways of you
all together as one
and the summer wind
and the sun and the stars and the moon
waiting there in this hidden meadow
my ever blooming you.


Sunday, July 14, 2019



Early morning placid sheen
Of an ovoid pond,
shimmery silver steel,
a reflective pool
in the already hot sun.
It’s lovely and all
but I’m always worried about the depth.
What lurks beneath?
How far would I sink
If I held my breath?
Could I touch the bottom?
Would I find only darkness
And lose all orientation?

No one can walk across water
And I wouldn't try, not even in winter;
the cold is no salvation.
You can’t trust the ice 
To bear the loads I carry