Author Archives: Ken Greenman

Jared, at 162, fathered Enoch, who, at 65, (just out of puberty), fathered Methuselah. 300 years later, Enoch was not! At 365, God took him, removed him from the multi-generaional sandwich in which he was caught. Since Jared died at … Continue reading →

Brenna Elizabeth Sheeley I claim as grand-daughter for by now, the idea of “step” is irrelevant. She is a bundle of energy, brilliant imagination and giggling enthusiasm. Need to laugh, find Brenna. She is the only daughter of my ____ … Continue reading →

My grand-niece, Genevieve Mae Machado, called “GG”, five years old, a green-eyed, carrot-haired sprite, is the only child and daughter of my niece, Marie Elizabeth Machado, called “Maribeth”, a brave young woman who created and recreated herself, became a nurse … Continue reading →

My grand niece is nicknamed “GG”. I hold GG’s great, great, grandmothers spoon, tarnished, filagreed, engraved with “E. L. Atlanta” for Elizabeth Louise Atlanta Matisen, my grand mother who I never met, but have seen in old sepia photos, holding … Continue reading →

If we might be patient enough to wait, to watch, Nature will reveal herself in soft sighs, sensual moves, gentle touches, rainbows. Slowly slides down her Autumn dress, softly she sings to each arriving bird. Her slow lap dance with … Continue reading →

At our snow bird home on the Carolina coast, when our full time neighbors wife, a bit of a flake, but harmless, slightly tippler by noon, a face lifts permanent smile, said to my wife, “…and your husband, My Lands, … Continue reading →

The best things in life are not free. They are priceless, like the sea, diamond sparkled, framed by shrimp trawlers, broken slate thunderheads and powder snow clouds. Colors gleam on the water, charcoal grey to wind blown, white, foaming, sea … Continue reading →

It was 3 hours and 40 minutes into what would be my 5th and final Marine Corps Marathon. They host a good race, the Marines, but the weird November weather in Washington D.C. was taking its toll on me. Sunshine, … Continue reading →

Strange to think of skin as an organ. This thin, stretched flesh holding all together, shielding from the sticks and stones of misfortune. Aging, it frays, brittles. It struggles, even after other organs begin to quit. It holds on to … Continue reading →

Time-eaten edges fray, color fades from white to gray, black to ash. Where crucifix rubbed, where kneeling roughed the skirt away, over time, the old habit the good sister wore for sanctification by abnegation, wore away, from fervor to rote. … Continue reading →