Relaxing into Another Weekend
Haibun Mira hands me a full glass of Chianti. “Happy Friday!” We clank glasses as we toast. I take my first sip. Dark wood taste explodes on my tongue. I lie back on the...
Category: Poetry
Even Death Is Better
Poem The clock is ticking, the room is dark, no one’s breathing, I want to hide, I want to cry, but she holds me tight. Her image is a stone, her smell is...
Try To Sit
Unless you’ve got the best trap for me to escape then the last time full thoughts finish their breakfast will be the night you go hungry taste what we left behind is it to...
There He Goes
Poem There he is, doing his thing Giving us loving Power There he goes, sitting there Giving us every hour Oh no, there he ascends Turning for his throne As we pray for...
That Swing
Haibun I pull the black metal bars of that swing. The ground swings to the sky swings to the ground. Over and over again. Fog horn wind-tossed waves at Kingsland Point more by FRANK...
Forgetting You on a Plane
Poem The stale oxygen in this human cargo air ship is drying each last molecule of stability I had on land and expelling it back into the soft, deadly blue surrounding through some...
Shepherd’s Call
Each year, The Catholic Church celebrates Christ the Good Shepherd. A common Gospel reading for that Sunday Liturgy is the Gospel of John, in which Jesus Christ calls himself “the good Shepherd.” (John 10:...
Versification
The letters peel away from the page. and at a shift in meter, they begin to waltz. Only then feeling the stress of their feet, The importance in their scheme. They float away from...
A Letter to Basquiat
Images juxtapose. Image is just a pose for those who wish to see it Impoverished young artist, paint spattered suit. Undercover bum, cardboard boxed in Central Park. Using the spoon in your mouth to...
When You Speak to Me of Love
Short Love Poems When you speak to me of love You speak to me of attraction Two egos magnetized By mutual manipulation Lust, as they call it Physical, mental, emotional Playing at push-and-pull...
Losing Grandma
I don’t remember Grandma’s death. The only flash of memory is a snippet of conversation, and a flash of grief and concern on Mom’s face. My most clear memory of Grandma: she would squeeze...
One Step Forward, One Step Back
Silhouettes of our past Only moments behind us How do you break off The things that define you? I have memories And I have nightmares How can you decide The things to hold on...
