Author Archives: Ken Greenman

Father was fifty, still strong, aware, viral, a womans mans-man, but never loyal enough to be a one-woman-man. I was twenty, a cocky college sophomore chocked full with new-found but unsubstantiated wisdom, habitually playing the fool. On Thanksgiving break from … Continue reading →

If fate was fair, maybe he wouldn’t have been there, right on the spot where Little-David-play-on-your-harp’s stone caught him square above his nose, crushed his skull bone and drove the splinters into his brain so fast he didn’t have no … Continue reading →

It was clear to anyone watching which man was the master. As crystal as the Carolina Summer sky, stretched out, a turquoise canopy, high above the working men. It was not the owner of the mansion, peeking through the big … Continue reading →

Truth be told, there is no blood to hold the iron scaffolding of family around us. She is wife’s daughter’s daughter. I own no provenance to prove that lauded connection, to claim her, “Of my blood-line..”. But she knows I’d … Continue reading →

She had been found by an army rescue team. She was wandering in the ruins of her village after the great storm and waves. She was brusied and tired. She wore a torn shirt and a pair of shorts and … Continue reading →

If heaven is just a hope, life is glorious but a hoax, a tease, a blink. But a life of love and laughter and, yes, trial and tears is layered thick with yet undiscovered meanings if its faith is fulfilled … Continue reading →

I’m reluctant to visit the old neighborhood. Not for my tears shed for those I could no longer find, but for the sorrow I’d feel for those I would. Now, all are perfect. Photos, fast set, in memory, beautiful in … Continue reading →

Ruth, with her husband Robert, were sponcers at the youth center in my childhoods neighborhood. She, the young mother of my first girlfriend… we were all just beginners, really. But her daughter was a purposefull kisser with black, silken hair. … Continue reading →

Madalyn was the first, (and you all know, instantly, by instinct, of what I speak). I was 25 and way over due. She was 24 and knew what to do. That late night loving is lovely, still, even through all … Continue reading →

I watched a movie, decades back about the Little Boy Emperor of Manchuria whose bowel movements, left in a golden bowl, were a matter of emperial concern. His eunuch servant sniffed the little boys droppings and diagnosed: “More meat! His … Continue reading →