Category Archives: Poems

Having lived my allotted three score and ten, looking back becoming a comfortable habit while looking forward adds urgency to each mornings awakenings, I could well live with the assurance of one score more, even another, if Science grows accommodating … Continue reading →

At thirteen, when I invented sex, and gifted it to humanity, I lived to soak my pillow in new made semen by any means available, turning soft cotton sheets into stiff corrugated cardboard, then, joined my first girl friend in … Continue reading →

Intent “doth make stars to shine” so a lusty young lad is led to seduce his lady in a canopied bed and, since a poet, to dream sugary sonnets in the sex-sweat-soaked, muse-whispered-afterglow, or, stars to collide, their solar systems … Continue reading →

Unless we die together, perhaps in the freak derailment of our city bound train rushing to see Rockefeller’s Tree or in some epidemic spawned by too much ebola in the romaine, then one of us, made widower or widow by … Continue reading →

Grabbing a quick lunch at a local bistro, I eavesdropped on two geezers in conversation at a near-by table, speaking loudly, as old folks tend, of dining experiences in other restaurants. One codger reminisced with the bravado of Tet Offensive … Continue reading →

There’s a sugary gentility in Dixie. It’s a lie buttered over to protect the Great Lie. “Colonel, sir! you’ve lost your war. Get on with your peace. Or get you gone.” But the battle-scared Mississippi colonel chose, instead, to sacrifice … Continue reading →

Much after his wife’s death, such a sadness, so soon after they had retired, he and his neighbor lounged in her recliners on her patio, discussing the drainage of her back yard and how well it worked after the great … Continue reading →

The black spiders carcass is stuck in the corner made by the joining of the wall and the ceiling. Some how it sticks there in the luxury of our walk-in-shower, its mausoleum, made of gray tile embossed by a taupe … Continue reading →

Three widows and two wives with their husbands sit at their table, (Number 15 of 18) eating Italian food. The men talk golf. The widows talk death. The wives swallow hard. SAINT TERESA’S BI-ANNUAL-KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS-“TASTE OF ITALY”-DINNER! (Raising contributions … Continue reading →

I was always leaving just as I was arriving. Sometimes, I didn’t even have a place to be from. But I never missed myself as both of me passed, in opposite directions, through the revolving door. The timing was that … Continue reading →