Last Minute Shit Scribble

I committed to writing at least
one poem a day and now I am less
than three hours away from missing
it today so here’s this:

There were several birds in a tree
By my count . . . it was three
And I begged and pleaded for a warble
but with the sun long past they bid me leave
No, this night they would not sing for me

Winter Storm Prep

Old man winter is
a lot like me
warming up before
the heavy lifting
First a few flurries
twisting to the left
then to the right
followed by a few sets
of light snow to get
the humidity flowing
Slap on the 50lb plates
of ice crystals and start
the gun show

So Close

Across seven skies
to where rivers flow
sweet and cold
and love grazes
as a fawn along the
green meadow’s edge
Where red poppies bloom
in unleashed freedom
not twisted into wreathes
to mark a million graves
It’s all there
West of all that men know
As close as your soul


Though their time together is brief
the trees love the fireflies deeply
Cherished as the twinkling stars
come down to earth to play at
their feet and tickle their leaves
and the trees giggle and tell them
fairy tales of magical things
Of fluffy white snow
and long dark nights
of cold


I know
that moment
that instant
just before
the hawk’s talons
grasp the mole
for I have been
Now merged into
perched calmly
atop the gnarled
old oak

Seeing clearly

Silence In The Trees

I observed a moment of silence
Studied it closely as it eased
its way through a copse of
barren birch trees
like a stalking lioness
Its hue an intoxicating
shade of azure blue
It had belonged to someone
I knew by the faint odor of
grief still clinging
I called to it but it
knew it did not belong
with me

Thursday Thinking

What I dreamed so long ago I scant recall
An archaeologist exhuming pyramids
from the sands of Egypt was one
Abandoned somewhere trail side
on the uncertain path to adulthood
and the obligatory rock star fable
held sway for a time
Bass in hand
heading for the promised land
of fame and fortune and writing
songs with McCartney but I wasn’t
set up for that sacrifice
It wasn’t in my blood just
the passing plaything of
a teenage mind
and I ended up


With the rest of those wandering souls
who make no particular choices as to
how to spend a life
Employed for a suitable dowry
A house
Close ties to a
financial institution
with more checks than balances
floating around

Always wondering
if it’s too late
to re-write dreams that were
allowed to escape or to create
new ones to carry you through
to the end
knowing now
what wasn’t known then

that you will not pass this way again

Poetry of Random Things

Purple petunias overflow
a window box high above
the cobblestone
Grandma’s secret
Hungarian Goulash
recipe simmers
in a tiny kitchen
scenting and heating
the grey afternoon
Warming the view
The poetry of
random things

Unwilling Traveler

How fond my memory of
days on the beach!
The bikinis
The laughter
Life before the disaster
The unhinged madness of surf
dragging me to the deep
only then to be drawn skyward
and buffeted about wickedly
Now I’m stuck atop a great
pyramid in the desert
Some place called Egypt
so the camels say
One lonely ass
grain of sand