Author Archives: Ken Greenman

I’m an old white poet who loves to write poetry from the heart and open-mic my art to crowds at the Art Works some listening, tolerantly while others are drinking wine and laughing at the bar because I still hear … Continue reading →

When did the nuclear family become two multi-racial-lesbians holding high a Yoo-Hoo baby boy while everyone around smiles? And did you hear? The “STARS AND BARS” flew in front of an armed insurrection on Fort Sumpter once again and two … Continue reading →

I’ve not much time left. I figure fifteen years, twenty at best. But during now and THAT, my days will be spent searching for answers to the question “Did everything that’s happened really happen like that? Was Gandhi just a … Continue reading →

mediocre is the best we’ve got. All the “A’s” you’ve earned are camoed “C’s”. The mere assumption of your whiteness is all you need to succeed. The “Best” is graded on the curve with its bar set low. What then … Continue reading →

He, a man sans secrets. She, a melding of mysteries. With him, what you saw was what was. With her, the ground she stood upon was a maybe, unsubstantial. Always the question of whether it would hold solid under the … Continue reading →

The dragonfly danced his drunken zig-zag above my backyard grass, forth and back, until he tacked, one last time and settled on a solitary dandelion , his electric blue and red body glowing against yellow. There he lit, wafting on … Continue reading →

Never construe the route you have created day by year by life to be your path tomorrow. Change charges into your day, uninvited, leaving your road in rubble, all signals smashed, squeed street sign arrows pointing east instead of north, … Continue reading →

We don’t all live on the dark side of the moon. Some dwell in mountain shadows there, but just in sight of the glimmers of light on the horizon. Some abide on its sparkling edge. Some have rushed across the … Continue reading →

From the soil beneath the Most Holy Place, mixed with desert dirt, rises the protecting Golem of Israel. His war cry, “Israel is the Golem of the Jews! And I am the Golem of Israel!” He waits in the cellars … Continue reading →

through grey steel clouds cold rained-on-day “ONKH! ONKH!” Canada Geese far off, heading away again. And again, another day, distant echoes call. corn-stalk stumped tractor-tire pitted fields scour sky, can’t distinguish directions, locations, only far off becomings till, etched cross … Continue reading →