Category Archives: Poems

Greetings! My first assumption is that Word Press is real, not some sort of dead end scam, bilking me of some few bucks each year…. By faith, I believe that assumption. So, my Word Press blog is real. And so … Continue reading →

Unlike the ancient mariners who kept their eyes on the closest shore, for they were sure, out beyond, there be sea monsters there, I’ve tacked the edges of the furthest oceans, for by faith I believe, Soul abideth beyond. And … Continue reading →

Yes! Yes! I know! Jane was born in England in 1775 and, in 1817, died. So young, the Angels cried. Emily was born in America, 1830 and was carried out through the back door of Homestead, her sanctuary in Amhurst, … Continue reading →

Had my yearly exam today. Pleased to report the… eye … is doing fine. (The left one is, anyway…) The right one, as it has been for almost 78 years is blind but for a fading upstage light and the … Continue reading →

I guess you could say that’s what I’m doing… Counting down to my lift-off. I think that tumble I took last week was just another peek at it. Another look was that simultaneous attack of vertigo and panic, two weeks … Continue reading →

…for no apparent reason I’m going to be in Beijing in an alley crammed with tiny restaurants and moms and pops food shops with the bulging eyes of once recently fresh fish staring at me from dirty windows. Since I … Continue reading →

On opposite sides of a line are long ditches lined with hope or desperate need… Foxholes, hiding atheists, for example. That line, over there, is in the Aragon Forest. It’s the Battle of the Bulge, Winter, 1944, I think, at … Continue reading →

Holy Mackerel! It’s 1:28 PM on the kitchen clock and I’ve only just finished my bowl of Cheerios mixed with a garnish of grains and nuts and covered with sliced bananas and blueberries , strawberries, and floating in 2% fat-and-Lactose-free-milk … Continue reading →

“Honey! You’d be such an easy guy to be married to, if only you were!” And he’d know what was coming ’cause he’d just done some…thing exactly the way he likes to do any…thing but not exactly the way…she likes … Continue reading →

Grandpa Mike was one tough ol’ Irishman, who dwelled in the smelly, dank cabin of the MIC-EDDIE, a tub of a sail boat he and his old friend, Eddie O’Malley (who died before their boat was launched) built together. Grandpa … Continue reading →