Author Archives: Ken Greenman

When my wifes daughter birthed her first, I was witness, but felt no blood stir in my heart, as others felt. Yet all it took was that first night the bundle stayed with us for me to look upon the … Continue reading →

I was just a witness there, but I glide from the birthing room with magic on my face, brush miracle like gold dust from my hair. What it must be to work in Gynocology, to witness wonder in each new … Continue reading →

An egg and a sperm get together for a term and what graduate’s a Hitler or a Christ. So let us all be very careful when a baby’s in the room, for her cry could be salvation or the crack … Continue reading →

Somehow, the infant knows, and tells us with his tears, that he has lost his peaceful place when he was forced to join the human race. So, we cry when a baby is born, because we share his sorrow. We … Continue reading →

Why do we cry when a baby is born? Because we live with sobs and cheers, endure the march of inexorable years. What better response might we make to that moment, than a bittersweet flow of confluent tears.

When my daughters first baby was pushed from the womb, blood laced and wailing in the birthing room, we who were witness to his first moments tune took a step in the pagent from our birth to our tomb.

There! And again, There! peeking through Spring forests yellows, golds, greens, a sudden lacey splash of dogwood white, caught by a glimpse, a lucky look while breezing down a back country road, almost missed in a quick seconds blink. What … Continue reading →

She owns an engraved invitation, permanent, though we seldom expect her. Still, she comes never too early, ever punctually on the dot. When we hear her at our door, no time for last second house cleaning, cake baking, “Is there … Continue reading →

Fugues in waves cross, collide, creshendo, metso forte’, mixing foam with dissonence, assualting sand and serenity as I rest on an ocean beach. Yet what we know of surity desolves at sea side. I doze, secure, toes soaked and tide … Continue reading →

When the band goes home at 3:00 AM, what matters? Not how well they jazzed their riffs but how our dance kept beat. When the preacher prays,”…all say Amen.”, what matters? Not his harmonious exigesus, but what gospel joy we … Continue reading →