Author Archives: Ken Greenman

A pelican bobbed the waves. No crowded flights of gliding Vs. No crashing dives for him. Just easy float and warming sun on September southern seas So I pray it may be for me as I reach the age of … Continue reading →

Don’t you dare to die before me, dear. You love more your kids and theirs. They love their Mema Nancy. They love to come to see you. But, truth be told, my darling, when I beg to go before, I’d, … Continue reading →

Know what we’re doing? Reading stories: Novels, biography, articles, short stories, about wonderful or terrible or mean or tender human beings who drowned when the ocean liner, skiff, whaler, slaver, goes down in a hurricane, smashing on the rocks, exploding … Continue reading →

The fireworks of fire flies, glowing in the dark, flashes quickly fading. We sit in our rockers on the screened porch, holding hands on the arm rests as we rock the evening away. Some times, I see myself at thirteen, … Continue reading →

Please! Delete me! Tap the key. For I don’t E-Mail any more. To live on Face-Book, such a din!!! Delete me and let me use my pen.

I wish I might squeeze behind your eyes so I can see the Thou you see when you look at me. I Think I am that Thou you see but I’d like to know if what you see is the … Continue reading →

Any time epifiany gets organized, it gets sterilized, it gets paralized proponents, canonized, the event gets deified, outsiders, demonized. I proclaim, “Move on! run head on into other gods, become friends with them, then get down on your knees, pray … Continue reading →

“I’ve written all that needs to be written. I’ve said all that needs saying. I’ve always said and written Truth, even when I’ve prevaricated. My stories are grander, more important, than everyones except Solomon’s. No one surpasses Eccleasties in Wisdom … Continue reading →

Lacey, hazy sunlight lit silken maze where lovers wander, wondering fingers reach for the touch of the one. Souls are woven together in fairy dreams where all are awake, senses sparkle in morning dew, midnight moons rays, foils for warm … Continue reading →

I ran to Grammy Genevieve because, reading of Margret Fuller and the Dial, I learned she’d found no flesh on those “oversouled” philosophers she edited and I had found no soul in that knuckle dragging linebacker who’d been tackling me … Continue reading →