Category Archives: Poems

The memory always begins with the soft knocking on his door, blending with all the accumulation of desire, of wanting to be exactly where you are, and ignoring the nervous wondering about how awkward this might be, all the possible … Continue reading →

First, a disclaimer: I’m neither astrophysicist nor astronomer. I am not even an astrologer. (though there is more writ in the stars than our philosophy calls for, Horatio, Ol’ pal!) But, 60 MINUTES just gave us a peek into what … Continue reading →

What difference would it have made if my tearful Jewish Grandma (my slightly tipsy Grandpa listing beside her) had offered me a chance to choose on my thirteenth birthday and I chose to be Jewish while the Christian other half … Continue reading →

It seems to me, dear Lilly, young mother of Rosie, my first kissing-crush girl-friend, I entering my early teens, that you, having been a young bride, so near to us, really, in age, that when I, by then, a young … Continue reading →

In a dream with PJ, an actor, a student of mine was this song sung: “You play now, to an audience of angels. Your stage is lit by star-light. Your script is writ by a heavenly wright. And all your … Continue reading →

Born into a contradictory premise. My “Thou shalt not” mother pitted against My “Thou shalt” father. “Thou shalt not be like him!” she begged! “Thou shalt be like me!” he proclaimed. My becoming in the tenuous no man’s land between … Continue reading →

I am searching through an ocean-going library of memories, searching for some pristine purity in my life at sea that can be pictured in sketches other than fading, sepia-toned, frayed at the edges, cartoon reminders of me. Sorry. It is … Continue reading →

Be not so sure of surety, of a reminder for tomorrow on your desk. For always, later or sooner, is the consecutive skipped arrhythmia of a heart failing since birth, is that brief, inattentive crossing of that street where, unconcerned, … Continue reading →

All my birds stopped. Stopped everything. Spearing suet from between the green grills. Snatching sunflower seeds from Droll Yankee feeders. Flitting from tree trunk to branch. Singing. Stopped. Everything. Nor could my bravest Chickadees, whispering chirps and secrets from deeper … Continue reading →

In the Great American Photo Album, Southport’s Bo Jangles is a little snap-shot. A picture of the crew will do. Mai Wong bakes the biscuits. She feels fortune-favored to have the job since she is (secretly) just 15, but she … Continue reading →