Author Archives: Ken Greenman

I prefer to sleep in bed with my hands clasped behind my head, but I tend to snore in that position, more, and Nancy, at all hours whispers, “Ken, roll over!” I, though comatose, apologise, obey, So, when I’m dead, … Continue reading →

After my 3:30 AM pee, (as if I needed more evidence proving I had survived another REM DEATH,) I lay on my left side rocked by a life pulse banging in my ribs, roaring through my ear, a slow-mo jackhammer. … Continue reading →

If all the Earth is soluable and all humanity cries, how is there still rock or soil? How can anything be left? Tears are emotions currency. They pay our feelings debt. Since history’s a vail of them, How come everythings … Continue reading →

My wife is a great wave on a great wave day. I catch her, cresting, clear, seperate, a long way out. Her strength would pull me under if I hadn’t felt her coming, wasn’t moving with her. Her surge grasps … Continue reading →

we are earthen vessels clay kiln fired we last until- then our shards litter earth forever. but we are all not all clay. divine impurities, glass, mica, diamonds, shine from us- brighter light unsensed by stone. these soul sparks are … Continue reading →

Birdsong is springtime. Snow cover’s winter. Mixed messages from Mother this mid-March morning. For me it’s a matter of a warmer jacket. For the Robin, it’s a matter of death. What’s to do when instinct was wrong, when it would … Continue reading →

I see the old roads shadow, deep ruts dug by wagons, bordered by stone walls collapsed by frost or deer or ghosts, Passing through second growth woods where,once, corn fields flourished, families farmed. overgrown by saplings, briars, weeds, old roads … Continue reading →

Born in the mateing of wind and heat, sheathed in shimmering silver and silk, flying feet, flickering fingers, waving arms, her flame on the dance floor ignited us all. Musk scent at midnight, pounding drums, pulsing bodies, whirling and laughing, … Continue reading →

I intend no disrespect to poets of pleasant notions, but those who praise the forests peace have not stared long enough to know. If God husbands this wooded world, He grows a garden of graves and harvests ghosts. The fear … Continue reading →

The seedling grows in her parents droppings. The parent dies encircled in her saplings roots. The decay bleeding down into soil is blood seeping up into birth. It is this natural proximity to past generations journey we miss. How many … Continue reading →