Author Archives: Ken Greenman

First, the on-off button or the mute, at least, or, definitely best, a brick! Quick! Toss it, Dope! While there’s still hope!

Our choice renders your omnipotence, impotent. The complexity of your creation shrouds you in fog. Your omniscience makes you unknowable to us. You abide in all things, thus I touch myself when I try to touch you, making you untouchable. … Continue reading →

The last time I wore a cast, I didn’t pout. “At last,” I thought. “Something to talk about”. Throw some parties, quick! They’re always cooler when someone’s been sick. We can one-up each other like our temperatures or trade even, … Continue reading →

Poems aren’t written, they’re found, on forest path, in dumpsters, on my wife’s smooth thigh, on Manhattan curb sides, gems torn from the Times or dirt from the Post, although sometimes I think tabloids get a bad rap. How flat … Continue reading →

Death deals from a stacked deck. Our own DNA, planned obsolescence seeping toward us, inevitable, a silent tsunami. Mario Rivera, in pure form. bottom of the ninth, bows to the batter, three pitches later, bows to the next. I have … Continue reading →

Ah!! January! All is perfect! The half gallon containers of mint chip ice cream are stacked neatly in the Stop n Shop freezers, not mine. The new All Sport Fitness Gym is a mere five mile drive from my house. … Continue reading →

Balloons are versatile. Blow them up to play with them. Blow them up to destroy them. We are the same. Blow us up with the Cross, the Koran, waving Stars and Stripes. Blow us up with fanaticism, superiority, hubris. Doesn’t … Continue reading →

“…and a poem is a thoughtful art form bringing order and tranquility into our shattered, chaotic cosmos, restoring the natural tempo of… OH! Excuse me! I hear my grandsons scream in the yard! I think he just flew off the … Continue reading →

A rancher is Texas would sell his soul for the rain drenching our New York lake. The run-off alone would be cherished. But profligate Nature never learned to balance. She gives us her best along with Her worst, but does … Continue reading →

I envy the leapers off docks and floats, those squealers and whoopers screaming, “Look at me! Look!!” as they jump from the high silver rafts on the lake, who abandon the sun warmed air to plunge down there, into the … Continue reading →