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ORIGIN
I am told that I should writeabout my origins, that is the stuffthat long poems are made of, orrather the soil from which they bloom. I have written about my birth motherand visited her grave in West Virginiaseen those of my grandparents, meta cousin, I’ve written all of that. So its time to write aboutmy…
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CALLING
In the dark heart of nighttime is suddenly frozen,the clock’s hands stalactitesand stalagmites, unyieldingdenying the approach of morning,leaving the sun imprisonedunder the watchful gazeof its celestial wardens. It is then you appear,call out to me, beg mebe silent, not askingthe lifetime of questionsI have accreted, providingmy own hopes andimagination for answers,but you have faces, notthose…
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KP
My younger step-siblings had it easyonce our father made seriouis money,for then my mother decided we neededa live in housekeeper, one whocould cook, clean and take careof all those things domestic. So my siblings had only to puttheir dishes near the sink,their laundry down the chute,and keep their rooms marginally tidy. I had missed most…
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WANDERING NO MORE
In my dreams I wanderedthe alleys of Lisbon searchingfor a familiar face, and manycame close, but no man stopped meand asked if I was, by chancehis son, for he dreamed Iwas what a son of hiswould look like. Now I have no need to wanderfor I know he is ina military cemeteryin Burlington, New Jersey,and…
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NOT YET
The man walked into the old dinerlooking not at all happy,dressed in what looked likea white robe he found in some alley. He ordered coffee and glancedaround, as if seeking onefamiliar face, finding manythat looked like that of his father, like him,for that matter, and he knewfrom this quick glance thatthey were not yet ready,…
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TROVE
He says he has founda treasure trove of home movies8mm film in small metal cans,the sprocket holes intactfor the most part, my childhoodI thought captured on 35mm slidesthat I am too cheap to payto have digitized, my adoptiveparents ill at ease with a cameraassuming always back lightingwas preferable, and I admitit was nice to be…
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HAUNTING
The ghosts of my birth parentsblow into my dreams asso many white sheets tornfrom the clotheslineby gale winds, fly over me,at once angels and vulturescarrying off memoriescreated from the clayof surmise and wishful thinking. I invite their visits, frailbranches to which to clingin the storms of growing age,beginnings tenuous anchorsto hold against time, knowingthe battle…
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ILL SUITED
My father wanted to takeme to buy my first suit, saidhe knew a tailor who couldfashion one perfect formy pending Bar Mitzvah,a nice wool blend, he said. Mother about threw a fit.“Take him to the departmentstore or even Goodwill,for God’s sake, he’s onlygoing to wear it once.” My father had learnedthat some battles are bestleft…
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OF DREAMS
I am now of an agewhere I can no longer rememberwhat terrors gripped my sonsin their dreams, causing themto appear beneath our blankets,I relegated to the bed’s edge. Perhaps there were noneand I was destined to bean edge sleeper, the boystaking advantage as a jokeplayed out night after night. I know what dreams nowcan rip…
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CARNEY BARKER
You there, walking along the midway come into my tent, for only a dollar I will show you wonders beyond your meager comprehension but this offer is only good for the next fifteen minutes for that is when I start my show, It’s not something you want to miss. I know you’ve seen quarters pulled…
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an old writer and his words 