Author Archives: Ken Greenman

In all probability, I won’t die today, I mean, what the heck? It’s 11:21 PM as I write, according to my desk-clock. That leaves me just 39 minutes to break my neck, tripping over my chair in my dark study … Continue reading →

The stillness in front of the storm is not before it, rather, part of it. When the chimes on the back porch are silent, the flat clanger hanging straight down in a breathless air. Not a ripple on the pond. … Continue reading →

So, you say I’ve only left a faith in a hale and hardy hope and if not that, then a weakening grasp onto a chilly liberty granting me the freedom to accept there’s nothing coming after me but a deep … Continue reading →

I didn’t just suddenly get old! I only, just recently realized that after a lifetime of aging, I AM! Not even can I hide behind that cheesy hope that I am only “getting older!” Nope! Truth won’t let that lie … Continue reading →

Both were olderly. Both had been widowed, recently, relatively. (Relative to the decades they’d been espoused to their beloved spouses) and now were, surely, ready, he had said, “…to give it another go!” She had laughed in his face. And … Continue reading →

Everyone who was 50 when I was 20 is definitely dead. Everyone who was 60 when I was 50 is probably dead. 50% of my college roommates, (as of last Saturday when Walter wandered away, unexpectedly), are dead. I’ve been … Continue reading →

……a big, eight syllable word meaning “next to nothing”. To “not matter”. To be “of no meaningful substance.” To “be unable to produce any effect on anything”. To ” only take up only the space of only what its mass … Continue reading →

Somewhere out there is a planet where the sun sets in the East and during bright day light, the inhabitants sleep. For them, the dark of night is the right time for living. When all the sharp shades of glaring … Continue reading →

When you avocation is your vocation your life is a vacation! So find your calling before you find your career. And if you want to write poems more than anything else in the whole wide world, but you also like … Continue reading →

I’m not moving anything of hers. Nothing. Not her silk and lace undies, mixed, haphazard, among my boxers, her sexy idea of “Fashionista Foreplay” in the top drawer of my dresser. No, not even her photo on my wicker bed-stand. … Continue reading →