Twas a beautiful harvest moon…
Poetry
I have been writing poetry since the 2nd grade. Why stop now?
Poetry
A Patch of Red
There is a tree on my street,a sentinel standing readyto warn the twirls of a twister,first to shed its’ winter greysfor verdant foliage. This morning I roseearly coffee in handa quiet August vaca daywatching the day beginthrough the curl of Dr. Phil. I saw my tree standingwith one small patch
Poetry
Races
We run races against clocks and bosses,eyes ahead at flickering screens,deep in code and execution,where each black secondaffects the bottom line,mano a mano – no prisoners taken,avatars in real time,until the clock strikes five.[PAUSE]They run races cheering each other,celebrating achievements not their own,but others – teaching usthe senses of community,
Poetry
Invisible Man
When I was young,I wanted to be Claude Rains,unwrapping and slipping,ghost-like out the door,past Gloria Grahame’soutstretched arms,into the night,and adventures new,beyond the grip of mundanity.This morning I stepped,before ‘Don’t Walk’ expired,said “Oops, Sorry!” to no one,in particular,but a young lady standing beside me,waiting for the light just snorted,and gave me
Poetry
Infinity
Before infinity I walk,listening to the dove sing – softly.And in the moment of now – expression.drum beats on, deep – thudding.Before togetherness I stand,waiting for the raindrops – shiver.And in the moment of truth – expectation,sipping air, sweet – wetness.Before the moment of ecstasy – infinity,deep feelings pause,I rise
Poetry
Hyannis Beach
dappled fog drifts,between feetcrunching on the sand;like a twining catin search of an early supper,or treat from my shirt pocket. street lights peer,between houses,sinking in the soil;like a peeping tom,in search of a tender sight,or unexpected late night treat. laughing waves wiggle,between drift logs,grinding in the sand;like a hyper child,in