Author Archives: Ken Greenman

“Naz Starovia!” “Skol!” My fathers friends roared as they drank my Fathers Vodka, at parties my Farther’d hosted while they mimicked their parents words and accents. “Da! Da!” ” Ochen Harashaw!” “Iz good we come to dis country!” “Pravda! Pravda!” … Continue reading →

I’ve rubber-necked 5th Avenue fashion-botiques where I couldn’t afford a hanger. I visited homes in The Hamptons where I couldn’t buy a brick. I’ve eaten in Soho restaurants where I couldn’t scrape-up a cheap tip. (Dad picked up the check) … Continue reading →

Some life’s be like “sometimes ya up – sometimes ya down”. In my life, in d’ good times – o’ bad – sometimes I gotta go down to get up and sometimes I get up to go down! Yeah, I’m … Continue reading →

I fill feeders with sunflower seed. I stuff suite into its holders. I wait. Surreptitiously, cardinals, chick-a-dees, woodpeckers and wrens and then squirrels searching for droppings, sneak out to feed. Nibble a seed here… Peck at suite there… Suddenly, they … Continue reading →

To predict a moments implications, to guess how far out in time its ripples will go, the power its waves will generate when they crash on some distant shore… that’s a tricky, iffy enterprise, but worth the effort -if you … Continue reading →

(when this poem is read to groups, I will sing the old gospel song, ONLY A BOY NAMED DAVID for the back story.) I know a guy, Bill, who believes in whatever requires no faith to believe. If there’s a … Continue reading →

The view from my pillow of her, occupies my eyes as she sleeps, nude, beside me. Her cleavage lingers – just there, draped in blue silk sheets, inviting me to lose my way in her deep and comforting valley. I … Continue reading →

He sees himself but doesn’t know himself but he knows what he sees and doesn’t like it. He sees himself, rust-breast-feathers-fluffed, blue-angry-wings-flapping… and what he sees is frightening. To defend himself against himself he attacks that self he sees mirrored … Continue reading →

I placed an old folding chair between the tree line in my back yard and the bird feeders. I sit there, waiting. The birds panicked off when I arrived, but, now, they steal their way back, a few feather flutters … Continue reading →

There is such a little space, the distance created by a thumb-tap-or-two on the space-bar——– of my key-board, between now here and no where, between knowing exactly where I am, -here- when I am where I am- -now- , and … Continue reading →