Author Archives: Ken Greenman

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 →

Winter muds into Spring. Spring buds into Summer. Summer falls into Autumn. Autumn ices into Winter.

African-American, Italian, Irish, Latino, Japanese, Danish, Russian, Fairy, Wait! What? Elfin, Norwegian, English, Wait a second!! Fairy? Elf? A race? A gene? Yes. Haven’t you seen them once or twice? On a crowded street? In a quiet library? That fair, … Continue reading →

I can’t breathe! My brain gonna bust. I’ve got to exhale! Something! Anything! Like “…the washing machines buzz at the end of the cycle” Got to get it down on paper even if only to start the next load, maybe … Continue reading →

Digging through the universe, a peep hole to a hint of what lies at the core. Holiness flows through the tunnel God bore so we may bathe in the Sabbath Day.

The old man wandered into the Blue Moon Gentlemen’s Club around 2:AM, a worn-like-he-was-lost look on his face. Five ladies were still working, taking turns dancing for the six grungy patrons sitting in the room shrouded in smoke and gloom. … Continue reading →

There are millions of poets who never wrote a word. But those who mine for golden words to brighten darkness, toil to strip cataracts from eyes, thrust surprise into jaded lives, salute those earthy bards, wish them revelation in their … Continue reading →

What right have we for rites of passage when so many die before their rite time? What right for a girl to feel blood tide on her thighs when so many, for no crime but being who they are, lie … Continue reading →