Stay tuned….

I’m working on the final draft of my first book. Crowds are waiting for release:


I’m working as fast as I can.

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Cafe haiku

Floor tiles are mismatched

An old man stands bewildered

Which way to go now?



A woman passes

In the cafe filled with diners –

A breeze melts my skin



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Skeleton Skeltonic Verse


skeleton bones

rattle as they roam

‘til they come back home.

the last time i saw one

he, she or it shone in the sun.

he, she or it was having fun

until he, she or it shouted a curse

it was so much worse…

it’s supposed to be a skeltonic verse,

you dummy old bones,

stop all your groans.

go back to your graves in that thick thick thicket

‘til you find a poet who’s not dyslexic


Skeltonic verse consists of short rhyming lines that just sort of flow on from one rhyme to the next for however long one chooses. 



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Grandma’s Ghost

My grandmother wore a white sheet on Halloween.

Her black oxford stout-heeled shoes poked out from under the hem.

She walked with her familiar rock from side to side.

Her pale blue eyes glinted through the eye holes.


She was not carrying sweet candy;

She carried a loaf of rye bread.

The aroma of weak milky tea surrounded her.


When I ran to her to clasp her in my arms,

She was gone.

So I went home,


And every child, “Trick or Treat!”, got a slice of rye toast

And a hot cup full of tea.



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Catholic High School

They sent us forth under false pretenses.

They sent us forth with the false idea that we knew the world,

knew where we stood,

knew what needed to be done.


In truth, after graduation, we landed like turnips off a turnip truck:

stunned by the world,

confused by reality.


Some of us stood stock still, rigid in the pretenses.

Others floundered, running blindly toward any sacred security.

And what of those trying to collect meaning as a little boy tries to capture frogs?


And me, dumb as a doorpost, hanging onto the strap on a subway car,

Letting the coach sway and shake and screech around me,

waiting for a stop that looks good,

getting off for a while to look around.


Each stop had its own smell, its own dirty tiles,

Its own people to walk past as they slept.

Back Bay, Dorchester, Waltham, Roxbury, Manhattan, the Bronx,

Mexico City, Bangkok, Hanoi….

“Oh the Places You’ll Go” doesn’t begin to cover it.


I settled in a town much like Middlemarch,

surrounded by flower smells, leaf color, neighbors,

far from the madding crowd,

on ground that does not move.


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Hundreds of Ways

There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground –



There are hundreds of ways

to touch a leaf

to hear the sea


Hundreds of ways

to breathe

to sigh


There are hundreds of ways

to touch your skin

to want

to melt.


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Here’s Looking at You


Sun’s out,

hummingbirds are humming.


Then one stops,


One eye

Stares at me

Staring at him.


He hovers,

flicks away.

What was his name?



Ruby-throated Hummingbird, or

Nano AeroIvironment Spy Drone,


Which looks and flies

like a hummingbird

with a camera behind its eye.


Either the wild is

Welcoming me back home or


The insurance company is

Ensuring I’m




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