Saturday, February 4, 2017

Winter with Ebenezer

A storm loomed and wind stirred
dried twigs of a leftover
summer plant, its withered tendrils
grasping at concrete and a
praying mantis long since deceased.

It reminded me of ol' Marley. He
was dead as a door-nail.

And so are spent my recent successes.

A new chapter beckons, but the pain
of the present and abrupt end
makes me look more to the corrupted
mantis than the coming spring.

I've already been haunted by
the things I've done.

I paused, that morning, the carcass,
staring back at me, more wraith
than gentle spirit, igniting a
condemning symphony in my mind
accompanying the brittle descent
I'd taken from

many joyous years
odd but manageable recent ones.

I'd skipped to the last ghost, really!
That decrepit exoskeleton a hooked
and aged finger slipping from under
the ragged frock of death's angel
pointing to my doom!

It cannot be! No!

Scrooge's cry has become my own.

If only I could sponge away this writing,
and change these shadows by an altered life!

Wednesday, January 18, 2017


The rain was softer
today. The wind,

I recalled days when
I thrilled to go for a run
in just such conditions.

Because of them. But 
tonight, instead, I 
wish for the soothing
they once brought.

In a poem, 
a reflection,
a thought.

Thursday, July 9, 2015


Yesterday swallows
danced above the historic city hall
over pedestrian conversations
over diesel trucks hustling
morning men with Rockstars
and coffee to job sites,

over retired regulars on the sidewalk
sipping their coffees remembering
hustling to their job sites.

I, lost among them to the birds, wanted to
forget those things and longed
to remember simpler things like
which swallows these were
and what hatch brought them out.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Book in Hand

He sat at the booth alone.
Dressed in jeans and a faded greed polo,
he'd pushed the limits of the seams
on more occasions than just this meal. 
Readers perched, worn paperback in grip,
he mouthed the words as he gobbled them up.

He never saw the elderly couple entertained 
by their story-telling 50 year old son.
Nor the scores on the multiplicity of TVs.
Probably not the 3rd refill on his tea.

I didn't know whether to admire his focus
or feel sorry for him. All I know is that 
Story was a powerful influence for him and 
he sat at the booth alone.

Monday, June 23, 2014


Am I deficient?
What do I bring?
Awkward clumsiness,
weakness, tiring easily.
What talent I offer
is bested by so many others.
Master of nothing.

Today, I feel less.
Less than enough.
Less than good.
Less talented.
Less skilled.

So, I offer you Less.
Inadequate Less.
Penitent Less.
Sorry Less.

Your words,
laughing water,
refresh me.
Dense, fresh bread,
they nourish.

I hope.
I cling to them.

Wednesday, April 30, 2014




I worry.
Too much.
When will I
peace to rule
my thoughts
instead of
the squall?
Isn't that
just a
Or a
state of mind?