Author Archives: Ken Greenman

She, felt, you first. Then you knew her long enough to reach the age she was when first, she, met, you. And then some! And in those heart beats, grew your comradeship of blood. Genes groom us to feel, as … Continue reading →

Racket! Roar! The battles rumble pounds down my study door. The gentility of the waltz, erased by the rave. Passions delicate subtleties degenerate to rape. The diplomats deliberations devolve into the screeches of an ape. The joyous in a festival … Continue reading →

During my immortal pre-adolescence, it was a self-authenticated truth: Brussel Sprouts were nasty! Neither tasty nor healthy. Just as I was positive, in my childhood, of the repugnance of spinach. (To Hell with Pop-eye!) Later, I aged into the belief … Continue reading →

I gleaned from the road side, pieces of purple passion, broken and smouched by an errant tire. I filled 6 ounce plastic cups with 4 ounces of water, trimmed the browning stems till green appeared, placed them in cups on … Continue reading →

In the confluence of serendipitous, commodious circumstances, there is a rainbow in our commode: a long, thin, rectangular, east-facing window above our deep, tiled, no-curtain-needed, shower; a crystal ball, as small as a golf ball, suspended from that window; a … Continue reading →

I’m having a talk with me about planting a tree on the fringes of my property. And not just any tree. It’s a Live Oak, cousin to the stately oaks from my former northern home in New York State, but … Continue reading →

What if the scoffers are right and the believers faith is in nothing, for nothing? Well, then… So what? Believers will have spent their lives, day by days as all have spent theirs, but, maybe, with a little less worry, … Continue reading →

To what do I owe this post-coital felicity, lying entwined around and within my lady, a Carolina Blue sky shimmering through the fine lace curtains draping our bed room bay? Certainly no exemplary behavior of my own. No karmic stock … Continue reading →

Xenophon Pendelton Dunne was constitutionally opposed to laughter, joy or fun or any other such frivolous response to the darkness glooming his world. His alarm clock groaned midnight at every hour. If any man needed Pippa passing by his door, … Continue reading →

My love sleeps in the blue hue of our dimly lit living room on her pale blue recliner, her hands folded on her lap. She is warmed by her woven, white, wool blanket, pulled to her chin. She is still, … Continue reading →