Author Archives: Ken Greenman

Life is full of them. The sparkling diamond in a rock pile. The shinning quarter in the pocket of a rented tux. The ancient silver cross beneath the crumbling cathedral. Shimmering minnows schooling in a tidal pool. Yep, life is … Continue reading →

I googled soap and perfume to discover their inventors. Who first thought of cleansing bars and other smell preventers? Turns out, An IRISH lass named SPRING was first to shape that ZEST filled thing while she sailed the IVORY, COAST … Continue reading →

The humid breeze barely breaking the heat, the whispering shimmy of leaves, the street noise, a motor cycle gargling by, slowly fade to quiet. But the needle beaked hummingbird perched on a twig for five, maybe seven, heartbeats will forever … Continue reading →

Where the hummingbird was is where the hummingbird is. Forever in a frozen present in my mind. The moment of the meteor perched on a thin broken branch just above my tent, iced in memory. I did not have my … Continue reading →

The sonnet’s no worse than free verse, or, poets curse, blank verse. The form’s just a thing where in we catch the meaning of what we sing.

I’ve long been possessed by the pleasing notion of having my ashes tossed in the ocean, to allow my soul, then shriven of sin to surf on the waves, race with a dolphin. But a thoughtful addendum has lately been … Continue reading →

The baby, warmly wrapped, comfy cozy for an after bath nap. What is in the water, tossed from the stoop, along with the soap, the dirt, the poop? Ah!! So much! The immediate, accessible nipple. The illusion of herself as … Continue reading →

He is no mere thief, stealing for gain. He is the creator of grief, his mission, pain. His dark X across Monet’s lilly creates glee filled calamity. His razors red slash across Venus’ cheek ruins for no reason but his … Continue reading →

I heard the wild turkeys gobbling, deep in the woods. Couldn’t see them, but heard them fine as their conversations grew articulate and refined. I sat still, waiting for their arrival, hearing them coming closer, closer They never appeared. Instead … Continue reading →

I’d rather spoon with Nancy than run marathons like I used to, or write a poem like I’m doing now, but, Nancy’s working on her business news. To feel hers against mine,the fine, warm pressure, beginnings of what there are … Continue reading →