Author Archives: Ken Greenman

Deer, nibbled the purple passion down to the dirt. A pot of oozing stubble is all they left. They didn’t touch the hosta, clematis, lilies, pot’o gold, the not yet budding black-eyed-susan or bee balm. I’d spread milorganite on the … Continue reading →

Why don’t deer dine on dandelions, or graze on grass, or just trim the forsythia bushes? I mean, why just flower beds? Tulip buds, hosta leaves, almost open lilies? I mean, one mans garden is another mans weeds. Why won’t … Continue reading →

Just to start anywhere, Nanking, the brutal rape of thousands of Chinese women by the Imperial Army of Japan. Auchwitz, the cold blooded murder and cremation of millions of Jews by the men and women of Hitlers army. Dresden, the … Continue reading →

At twenty-three I was best man at my fathers second wedding in the United Nations chapel on 46th Street. His soon to be sister-in law was maid of honor. She was beautiful in that ” Black Irish of the fairies” … Continue reading →

My father, a widower, married my wife’s mother, divorced, in Trinity Church last year. They are not so old… SURPRISE!!!!! They had a son, Michael the 3d. (Grandpa was the 1st, Dad the 2nd, I am Kenneth Michael but Dad … Continue reading →

Would that the ponds mirrored surface, the silent, breezeless meadow be just that. But pause for a peaceful moment. Wait for the flash from beneath the glass, the sudden rustle in the carpet of grass. A dragonfly swallowed in the … Continue reading →

Where is Osamas soul now? Secure in Allahs arms? Burning in eternal flames? Sitting under some tree some where, sipping lemon tea, speaking freely with Bolivar, Lenin, Stonewall, Gandhi, Ho Chi Min, Che and other jihadists who fought with all … Continue reading →

Magnolias mired in mud after the sudden spring storm. Pink blossoms, shredded, strewn like lungs, fingers, eyeballs of boys blasted by the freak quirk of battle. At least pity the petals, for the world won’t care to halt the horror … Continue reading →

Jarring jolt to meet you, suddenly in some public place, a stop-n-shop, a bank lobby, a Cold Stone store. Our moments are personal, planned, etherial, of another world, private sabbaticals. Not of the merchants. Not of the others.

When something hangs heavy over your head, it isn’t only heavy over your head. It’s wrapped tightly around your throat so you can barely breath, your lungs getting just a cup of the gallons of air you need. The weight … Continue reading →