Thursday, December 13, 2007

Whoa. That was a long nap. What is going on? Urp.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

A Sad Day

It is a sad day when a bicycler is run over, his bike crushed between the wheels and under the engine and the bicycler's body smashed into the windshield. The ambulance turned on the lights and siren and drove away, only to make the first u-turn North on highway 281. There is no hospital that way. Only the morgue.

Five o'clock in the afternoon, on a beautiful day.

His family got some bad phone calls that evening.

Saturday, August 11, 2007

Back from vacation, ready for the next vacation. All earth is one big vacation, as long as you are running around, sitting around, watching the parasails over the waves. Smack dab in the middle of heaven, sometimes it is hard to stop and get the camera out.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007


Happy 4th.
Remember the real fireworks.

Monday, July 02, 2007



Sunset over the Hill Country of Texas last night. The very last of the sun is going down right at the horizon. I missed the glorious part of the sunset, but the afterglow is important, too. The part of the poem that stays with you long after you read a poem is the important part.

Saturday, June 30, 2007

Predictable

Of course, to add to the previous post, men are gambles.

I find at this age that people are getting predictable. History is starting to repeat itself--out there in the world--and in my world as well.

Poets are becoming predictable, as I age. They seem to be the ultimate liberals, whatever that means.

I need more time.

Friday, June 22, 2007


Every woman is a gamble. You never know which way the balls are going to roll. Marriage is one of the most complicated things to get yourself into. A lot has been written about marriage. To make a commitment to another person is a wild thing to do. Gawd, after ten years of living with someone do you every get to know them? No.
Everyone keeps changing, and that is the poem for today.

Monday, June 18, 2007


There is nothing more wonderful than having a cup of coffee out on the deck in the morning and reading a book of poetry. Except now, I've given up coffee. I think it is weird stuff. So, now there is nothing more wonderful than being out on the deck and reading a book of poetry. Except now, I hate poetry. I can't stand it. That's why I try to write poetry.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007


To live a long time without a major tragedy is good luck. How few of us count our blessings. It isn't easy to count our blessings. It takes effort.


Here is an artist you might enjoy,




Saturday, June 09, 2007


No matter how old we get, (I am convinced) emotions often remain simple and easily understood--what confuses and stresses is when there are too many conflicting emotions, when feelings are forced by necessity into being modulated by thinking.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Forlorn Future


Sometimes things happen to other people which ends up changing you. Now there is an idea for a poem. My wife goes to a funeral and brings back flowers because they have so many. One day she will bring them home for me, my funeral. So I say, nice flowers, while I have the chance.


Sunday, February 11, 2007

Been Awhile

Under the weather for awhile. First an icestorm, then the flu, then the usual stress.

In the meantime, more ghastly poems in the mail box, more horrid poems everywhere.

Mangled sentences do not a poem make. Why is the simplest of all theories the hardest to get across to people? If one cannot say something directly and with simplicity, maybe one should not say it at all. In a great effort to claim creativity, poets twist words and meanings into a mix of vomit and fecal stuff. Don't mangle everything, don't codify.

Monday, January 22, 2007

Place



There are places with magic; magical places. Such places are often tiny, scaled to human size. Islands in the chaos.

Fells Point

Sunday, January 14, 2007

The Half King


There are vortexes that lead to centers of thought. A thousand voices often lead to one voice. Worlds often lead to one place. An artist often has one picture, a poet one poem. A life, one love. A youth, one goal. Not to be considered a restriction but an element of inclusion to be considered. Each of us can be many things, and have many goals. But how rare are true compassionate friends?

View out the The Half King, Manhattan. The Owner wrote the book, The Perfect Storm

Half King (NYC Pub) Review - New York City Restaurant Reviews ...HERE is how you can tell the Half King is a bar for writers: First, ... But the Half King, named for an 18th-century American Indian leader, is unlike any ...

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Wonder at Life


This carving looks like somebody I know, but I don't know who. Anyway, he certainly does have a wonder look about him.

Some poems are answers and some are questions. Answer, question. Maybe a balance works best. Too much of either may well ruin a poem.