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ON HER TERMS
NOTE: TODAY’S POST FOLLOWS BELOW: Dear poetry-lovers, Thank you from the bottom of my heart for following my blog. Some of you have been daily readers since it began 9 years ago, some are more sporadic or more recent followers. Thank you one and all. As you can imagine, it takes a fair amount…
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ALL BETS ARE ON
It is a game, of course, and one you cannot win. The question is how much will you lose if you buy into the game. The odds favor the house. There would not be a house if the odds did not favor it. But you know you must play the game. There is no other…
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IN MY MOTHER’S HOUSE
In my mother’s housethe refrigerator was dottedby little plastic fruitand the phone numberof a plumber we had once used,my sisters latest drawingpresaging a careerin health service managementa shopping listand my brother’s report cardshowing exemplary effortbut a weakness in spellingand my upcoming appointmentat the orthodontist. In my housethe refrigerator is dottedwith little wordsfrom Shakespeareand Chaucerand those…
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COLLEGE DAYS
All these years later he still could not fathom why he had done it. It wasn’t something he had thought about doing, but one day he just did it, showed up and got the gig on the carrier current station that reached 96% of the campus. On a good day. But he liked it and…
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WRITING
I have a Chinese friendwho says I should write poemsabout pomegranates and chrysanthemums.A Japanese business acquaintance sayspoems should be populated by sakura and Lotus.I tend to think of their advicein the deadest days of winterwhen snow presses against the houseas if seeking its faint warmth.As I thinly sliced the tender shootsof bamboo and dampen the…
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TY NEWYDD
In the gently aging house,replete with writersthere are endless roomsin which the muse dartsdispensing her soul.I prefer to sit with the catcurled in an overstuffed chairher head risingand falling imperceptiblyour breaths harmonic.We commune in unspoken dialoga language of silencebespeaking volumesof our shared existence. First published in The River, Sandy River Review, March 2024https://sandyriverreview.com/2024/03/30/seeing-you-again-next-stop-riding-ty-newydd/
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THE PARK
He was taking a shortcut across the park. He saw the clouds building, about to bring the long-promised rain. He wasn’t sure why he decided to walk home rather than take the bus as he usually did. He didn’t like to walk, but the doctor had told him he needed to exercise more, and he…
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MY SORT OF SISTER
I don’t remember her crib,but it was probably the one that Ihad only recently outgrown, butthe wood was polished pine,the rails topped with plasticthat I had dented with some cribtoy or other, the mattress soft,a mobile hanging off the end.She cried a lot at first, and mothersaid that was what babies did,but she said I…
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THE OTHER WORLD
He pendulated between two worlds,always on the fine edge of transition.Night brought amniotic dreamsthat washed away the digital bondsthe day had fashioned from his thoughts.Here was a freedom that reality detested.Here there were no walls, only open doorsand he could freely wander his psychewithout impediments, without that voicethat was always perched on the razor’sedge of…
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WINDOWS
The problem, she says,is that we think that windows are thereto look out of, to see the world outside.If you believe that, she adds, whydo half the windows on your houseoffer you a view of the house next door,or if you must live in New York Citythe windows of another apartmentor building, knowing they havethe…
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an old writer and his words 