Category Archives: Poems

I’m taking the liberty of using the license granted to poet and poetry to expand upon that allegory of the actor who runs onto the stage screaming, “Fire! Fire! The theatre is on fire! Grab the hoses! Use the water! … Continue reading →

The scent of my wife is a natural blend: .Two sprays of Este’ Lauder. .Four tea spoons of lavender. .Ninety-four cups of life. My love for her is laced with Youth Dew and what youth do, we still do, as … Continue reading →

Around 2 AM Greenwich Village time, he’d arrive at Reggio’s on McDougal Street, one block south of the southwest corner of Washington Square Park where young junkies and old Jews played speed chess in the dark and prepared for the … Continue reading →

Too many poets write god – poorly, shrouded in obscurity, make obscurity a god. Then read their garbled gospel to the multitude on the Mount, only to fail and resort to whining angst. Why struggle to put to poetry a … Continue reading →

In my back yard, there’s a strip of lawn, ten feet wide, fifty feet long. It’s a feeding zone where, during the years Nancy and I have lived here, we have fed the birds and animals suet, meley-worms, black-oil-sunflower-seeds, sugar-water, … Continue reading →

I’m offering a suggestion to help you become a better runner in the human race to get laid: Create a long menu of delicious breakfasts. – A dozen different omelettes . (Shrimp and crap with mushrooms and Swiss is one … Continue reading →

I’ve always been the one outside, playing in the storm. A blizzard in January? I’d be digging tunnels through ten-foot-drifts in the boat yards on City Island, tromping through thigh-high-snow, X-country skiing in knee-deep-deep-woods-powder, my Golden Retrieve, like a schooner … Continue reading →

Only with you can I piece-up a quilt from a thousand swatches of joy. With prayer, love and care, I will stitch all the stitches in the calico rainbow that ends on our bed. (…in the calico rainbow on our … Continue reading →

“Move along, folks. Nothing to see here,” says the cop in the long black robe and hoodie, holding a scythe whose only purpose is to keep the traffic flowing after another of those fated accidents where someones string runs out … Continue reading →

The words priests use to stumble around the Mystery are our best-worst-case-fall-back from the kneeling bench. They are all we really have that’s real to speak of how we feel, short of being, “In the Presence Of”, what ever that … Continue reading →