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OCTOBER
There is an infinite spaceAround us, a massive voidinto which universes tumbleand stars and planets are born.Outside, the maple leavesburning flame and crimsonspiral to the lawn, whichwaits to receive them.Autumn is the seasonwhen the earth prepares to dieand it is left to usto prepare the gravesite.The albino squirrel standson the fence rail, defyingme to find…
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CASTLES
Standing along the stone fencein the late afternoon shadowof Auchnanure Castle, as friendsmade their way up the narrowstone stairs to gaze out overthe Irish field in which we stood.We watched horses in the adjacent fielddash wildly toward us as if saying“damn the old stones, here is the photofor which you came to Ireland.” Orsaying “let…
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EIRE
They say you must cherishyour memories lest they slipaway in the night, trying fora freedom you deny them. I remember Ireland, knowingit was home although at the timeI thought I was Ashkenaziand Portuguese, but my geneswere trying to tell me something. I remember driving a stickshift down narrow roads,always keeping in mindthe advice, “if you…
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ASK OF THE SEA
When you ask me of the sea,living, as I do, fifteen milesfrom the nearest ocean, itis not the sandy beachesof Hutchinson Island I recall,nor the crowded sandboxthat is Fort Lauderdale’s beach. If you ask me of the sea,it is perched on the horizon,far in the distance, lookingout of the kitchen window,or perhaps that of the…
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TREPIDATION
I approach it slowly, overcomeby fear and desire, warned to stepcarefully over the uneven earththat on this hillside haven set behindthe rusting wrought iron fence , itsmaster lock dangling askew, peersout through the trees to the Kanawha riverflowing unknowingly through the valley. The stone is set in line with the others,neatly incised, a name, Englishand…
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DEEP WITHIN
The finches sweep from bush to feeder in a gentle inverted parabola appear head high with a pride reserved for those who fly. The chain link fence is for them no barrier but a honeycomb of perches, full on a warm February afternoon, their song threatening to silence the heart of winter.
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STYX IT TO YOU
They clearly don’t get it and odds are they never will. They think perhaps prayer will work or youth will provide some sort of immunity, maybe an executive decree, good luck with that given the swinging there to that old White House, with the ridiculous spiked fence in the middle of an avenue named first…
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IN DREAMS
Late in the night a train rolled by through the city, a few miles down the hill from here, its horn muted but still required at crossings. I know it appeared in my dreams, but I cannot tell if it was as the heron in flight over the lake, or the long bearded hiker with…
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an old writer and his words 