Author Archives: Ken Greenman

I’m a tuxedo soul In an overall body I don’t own the slim suave lines suggested for a slick Manhattan midnight my shoulders are blocky, my chest is too big my belly protrudes a bit and my overalls fit quite … Continue reading →

when trains rumble up and out of the great tunnels they leave behind a little light in the darkness it’s never altogether blind in there, every 100 feet or so, a little glowing bulb. and when those bulbs have glowed … Continue reading →

at the start when day slept with night night conceived and dawn was born its birth announced by the first cock crowing thrice loud enough to wake one who was before the first day who slept through the black night … Continue reading →

The blade rose to drop to split the sun slash the sky Divide the wind Bring the blood Steal my life in the name of God Abraham! Stop! The poor bullocks horns were tangled in the brush.

if it were not for the grief and that I’d have to leave my lady, I would gladly go to God today instead of waiting to be called. And I’d bring my key along. My key, the joyful ownership of … Continue reading →

if I could cloud dance prance cross cotton pillowed skies sleigh on sun beams slide down rainbow sides baptized in paint palette brilliance if I could be light beams be ebony midnights kiss the cosmos harmonize with star sighs with … Continue reading →

Evangelist came to town last week strove to save some souls. No wonder! He believes souls are gossamer and silk, soft, shaken by breezes, driven in the wind, so much drying laundry cinched by thin clothes pins to a fraying … Continue reading →

Every once in a while God tires of it, all. So, He goes, grumbling, like grandpa on cold mornings, to his back porch, sits in His favorite rocker and rocks, rocks, rocks, Till, rested, He yawns, stretches, says, “Oh, what … Continue reading →

Stony soil’s a better kneeling bench than cushion pewed cathedral when crocus emerges, it’s after wrestling with rock Why praise some cosmic magician Genesis, mere wand wave? Rather, pray to a sweating tulip triumphing in the sun.

Patiently, gladiolas create epiphany. Sunflowers by the fence, icons. Cosmos in profusion, Pietas before whom cardinals genuflect. Not even canon law confines wisteria vines. bluestone path through backyard grotto forms a fine way of the cross. My garden’s a grander … Continue reading →