Author Archives: Ken Greenman

Mother hated every man she ever loved. Including me, her only son. That built some rough speed bumps on to the road to matrimonial and parental bliss. A life time of self defense against a father who abandoned, a husband, … Continue reading →

“Oh feces!” “What the intercourse!” “Divinity curse it!” Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it. When we need something sharp, we don’t use a spoon, we reach for a razor. Yes, there are moments when, if not appropriate in … Continue reading →

We enter a cathedral at sun set. Smell the incense? Diving into Holiness. Drawing deep breaths in the depths. Buoyed prayers, as bubbles, rise through the sacredness of the seventh day sea. Then, at next sun set, wine becomes water … Continue reading →

I’ve acted, community theatre, hobby, fun, creative, intense. The Devil in THE DEVIL AND DANIEL WEBSTER. Ammundson in TERRA NOVA. The old man in PRELUDE TO A KISS. Sir Toby Belch In TWELFTH NIGHT. I’ve directed, community theatre, hobby, fun, … Continue reading →

New York isn’t a city. It’s a quilted tapestry of neighboring pieces bordered in blacktop stitches sewn first by native hands, then the hands of early colonial quilters continuing on into some future when the last bee is finished, the … Continue reading →

Jacob Marley was dead. Dickens was sure. But the book was so short, he could not get the whole of it. Jacob came back – from Jamaica- as Bob Marley’s cousin singing Reggae and a little bit of “Don’t worry. … Continue reading →

It’s cops against bad guys- sometimes. Sometimes cops are bad guys, bad guys, just guys. Sometimes cops are just. Bad guys are bad guys. But, bullets are always bullets, blood is always, blood.

A young, black, male, 19, maybe. orange cap covered by a hoody, long shorts, orange sneakers, jives down the street, Jammin’ with his music. I”m stuck at a red light as he sidewalk dances by. I used to smile at … Continue reading →

The Papal miter. The Yalmakha on the bald spot. The Mecca facing rug. The white collard preacher. These are the trappings of belief. Calling the faithful to prayer. Kissing the Torah scrolls. The Sunday sermon. The Communion chimes. These are … Continue reading →

In those few moments before the not-really-dark-enough for “can’t see my hand in front of my face” lightlessness almost conquers dusks gray, adding shades to shades of night, but not quite, when, there, on the surface of the irrigation pond … Continue reading →