Category Archives: Poems

At last we’ve won the sought-for-joys that any man would crave. And we were right when we fought the fight till the bloody owners caved. Now we have a fiddler and a caller our songs to call so with-your-arms held … Continue reading →

PROPHESY: The prophet must prophesy with the vaguest, most generalized applicability possible. Specificity, always the enemy of prophesy. Creating anticipation never actualized, this the prophets goal. Thus he is never wrong, and always employed. RAGE: must always be tactical, never … Continue reading →

If you’ve read my poems, you know I have the joy of feeding birds in a back-yard–fast-food-free-fly-zone of shepherds crooks, hung with suet holders, stuffed and Droll Yankee Spinners filled with black oil sun flower seeds. It’s a hobby. More, … Continue reading →

Happy are they for whom vocation is avocation., who neither strain nor toil, rather who play in peace in the fields of the world, who take no vacation for they feel no fatigue, know no drudgery- only quest and the … Continue reading →

Russian Grand Master, Nicholas Russelimo, played 10 games at a time in Washington Square Park. If he lost, he’d give his opponent a buck. If he won, the guy gave him a buck. If they played to a draw, no … Continue reading →

….or as Hamlet says, “Words, words, words.” There was a time, Shakespeare’s, actually, when The Virgin was called “silly”, when a man who desired men was called “faggot”. Then “silly” evolved to “special” and “faggot” became “gay” and if you … Continue reading →

DAMN! I just spilled blueberry juice on my white henley at breakfast. That’s it! The shirt is ruined. Never gonna get that stain out. It’s doomed to be a “work ‘n sweat-shirt” for the rest of its life. But then … Continue reading →

“Ho-Hum. Ho-Hum, twiddle Our thumbs… How boring is perfection. How tedious the monotony of eternity…” Sure, it was a crap-shoot. But They were getting fidgety! After They were done, They said, “It is good – enough for now. But not … Continue reading →

I do not know where Mother is, nor Father, (given him)! I do not know where three boys I taught in school before they went to war to die – are. Nor do I know where PJ is, that promising … Continue reading →

No gossemer dream is too rickety, too fragile, too frayed, to shreded-a-spider-web wafting in a wind-going-down. Until it comes true. Only then, when it becomes a thing we can clutch, as we can grasp the twig tossed in the tempest … Continue reading →