Author Archives: Ken Greenman

lapping its sand banks, a pool of blue water. breezy cool. palms grow round it, swaying lithe bodies on a low desert dune. There! Straight ahead! No! To the left! Turn around! To the right! Go to it! It’s gone. … Continue reading →

off the tip of Fall watching the archer bending his bow sending his shaft to the heart of green splirting out reds splotching trees, spots, covering ground beneath. Soon all is covered with a crusted blook blanket. Dead. Then, coffined … Continue reading →

I stopped at a SENIC VIEW REST STOP in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Was joined by three old ladies sporting around in a red Mustang. They were laughing, joking, as they stared out, over and off the cliff. It was … Continue reading →

Once, I played chess with the Old Russian. He offered me the white pawn. I came at him quickly, Kings Knight to Kings Bishop three, Queens pawn to Queen four. He moved slowly,staring agonizingly. Kings pawn to King three, Kings … Continue reading →

I’m not sure what perfect balance was unbalanced when they built that sturdy little boathouse on the dunes. But the Great Lake didn’t like it so with her waves began to lick it, a lion licking blood from gunshot wounds. … Continue reading →

Whatever we do to Nature, she will do to us. In whatever we attempt, She will succeed. Of this, at least, we are guarenteed.

Rainbows are not real, just watery reflections in the sky, thin crystalin colors in the air. But, I make you a dare: Look at a blackened thundercloud sky, sunlight gleaming behind you. Then, don’t wish to touch with tingling fingers … Continue reading →

living isn’t molded. it grows like oak up and out stretching sunward gnarled, rough, knotted, scared with loves initials, its branches weighted down with two-by ply houses, swings and fraying ropes to run to, grasp, fly free from into the … Continue reading →

how the green grass grows near the rocks by the railroad tracks. there, where barrels rust, tires rot, ties pile, wire unspools, trash of a rushing world rests last, where the fringe disintergrates, the unhemmed fabric unravels, concrete walls crumble … Continue reading →

Castles in the sand should be, by right of nature,drowned, seagulls white and ruckus, surf make crunching sounds. And what’s the good of winter without a freezing snow? What’s the good of wandering if you have some place to go? … Continue reading →