Author Archives: Ken Greenman

Atticus warned us. It is a sin, their beautiful songs and so on… But what about theft? Pirating the robins tune, the wrens, the cardinals. The white suited lawyer should have known better. What original opus has that thieving bird … Continue reading →

Oh! We are tenacious here at Aloha Acres, Hawaiian themed senior citizen parking spot in the Hudson Valley. We have our own community association, our president, eighty two, (imagine!) hot rodding around on her golf cart, passing out the news … Continue reading →

Well, it’s not a trailer park, really. Oh? Really? It’s a retired-senior-citizen-mobil-home-village-rest-stop before the stumbles, the hip surgery, leading to the Windy Willows Rest Home. It’s serious about the SENIOR thing. You can’t live here unless you’re over 60. And, … Continue reading →

How fortunate for us! So many bugs, squiggling around beneath Gods green rugs. Or else, pity the poor robin or ravenous wren! Pity us too, caught in that fuss. Imagine the earth if things weren’t thus?

Beneath the dirt, perhaps two inches, perhaps ten feet, lies a maze of roots, thin spindly things or thigh thick oak roots nourishing their trunks, branches, leaves, seeds, holding in place rich soil for foundation of forest, elm, pine, maple, … Continue reading →

Oh, he was right about Chicago, “Hog butcher to the world.” But that “…bucket of ashes…”, well, no. The Past is a swamp filled with a soupy ooze where wriggle and writhe spider, venomed snake and creepy crawling things with … Continue reading →

His American History teacher caught him unaware. That’s good. “Education unsettles the mind” someone said. It was the number, 14, the 14th year of three centuries in a row: 1814, 1914, 2014, that his history teacher caught him with. “So, … Continue reading →

Waiting, while the best word slides into line, shoving the better word out of it. Struggling for the right word feels like jumping off the Empire State Building, hoping to grab a vine on the way down, just before the … Continue reading →

Not that it matters, now, but years ago, when he flounced up to me to ask if I thought he was gay, I said no, but that I always thought he’d make a great wife for a good woman. That … Continue reading →

Rage, like lava, flows ancient gorges in the brain, reheating memory, resusitating the red flame. History, dormant and ready to burst its crust to cremate again. From whence comes this lust for volcanic destruction? Sons follow Fathers, hurt births hurt … Continue reading →