Author Archives: Ken Greenman

I love her when she bids me, “Come! quickly!” see the sun above the ocean rise to paint dawn sky, sea spray, apricot, the unhindered horizon shimmering yellow gold. I come, not so quickly from a warm bed, am stunned … Continue reading →

From the other side of fog comes the echo of your steps. You, splashing paths in street puddles. You are beautiful, though I cannot see you you are beautiful though your hair is drenched you are beautiful because you are … Continue reading →

They’re playing our song. A memory sings me back to you. A melody of smiles with a counterpoint of tears. The harmony our voices sang echos now and then in the wooded, peaceful spaces that at times surround my life. … Continue reading →

eyes stare deep into eyes which look down to hands holding tightly other hands not letting go. arms wrap around arms pressing, pulling waists, shoulders, legs, hips together. yesterdays, hopes, nows, together yet not one. an invisible, unbreakable bubble, something … Continue reading →

I How potent her illicit love… she sits, waits at her desk, stares. She remembers her promise to keep or break, or deny ever having made. She weighs her wanting. There are no hours like moments with him. His name … Continue reading →

I don’t mind a rainy Sunday morning If I can lay beside my lady and count the times we come and go wherever our minds will travel and talk of all good things to do tomorrow, someday and now…

Will you, with me, surrender to the wild winds, to the wild hot winds wet with humid passion? moist memory lingering longing longing to simmer in damp love soaked sheets sweet to the senses. The tart taste on the tongue, … Continue reading →

we live the theater – Image blurred The street light paint is fading our props, cardboard, insinuate block and bone. Carefully, we step through puddles that crinkle, never splash. Our warm brick home a plywood house held by two by … Continue reading →

some men sacrifice potent truth to potent action with wet, erect, but soulless swords sheathed between their legs. some men, unwilling to surrender, are cheated of victory. some men, tiptoe round the lake, licking when they might drink deep droughts. … Continue reading →

The heart keeps going when the brain has died… Love has her own logic Heart has her own brain How argue one superior one inferior when then best is of both worlds?