Archive for the 'Verse' Category



Fisherman’s wife waits
Praying for his safe return
The sea chooses her

Gliding Part 2

So, while we’re on the subject of unexpected but successful glides, next up is clearly Mr. Sullenberger.

Sully the magic man
Vanished some gooses
Right into the blue.

And as a finale, he
Conjured from nowhere an
Airbus canoe.

Gliding (first in a series)

Volcanic ash having been on my mind of late, I felt like I needed to do this:

City of Edinburgh.
Powerless, windowless,
Taking a dive.

But captain and crew instead
Crawled up a badger’s arse;
Landed alive!


Upon a time, I had two screws
Within my life, upon my shoes.
Held in tight, against my sole
Where I could not refuse.

Then one day most unexpected,
Solid threads had been rejected,
Leaving open space that I had
Thought was well connected.

The clip I hear, just as before;
Like tap-dancing across the floor.
But half the power holding strong
Is not there anymore.

Now one is left, and though it might
Still keep me pumping through the night,
There’s something missing in my world.
Next time I’ll use Loc-Tite.

Untitled #1

What makes a shape to last
As plaster wreaths itself in dust
When earth is fired
Or retired by the next wave?
And who will save
The moment when a god is slain
Or slakes an earthly virgin’s lust?

When does a story told
Through colored composition hold
A moment’s heart?
Or start another school
And who will rule
Tomorrow’s silent silver screen
When narrative serves more than gold?

How can an empty crease
And feathered quill release
With ink and skill
The thrill of secret love?
And who will move
The kings and queens to come
And make of sorrow slight surcease?

Where have the bodies hung
In frozen air, from stages sprung
With sharp sinews
Or music, heart to steal?
And who will feel
The rhythms yet to beat.
And hear the melodies still unbegun?

Why do I need to ask?
Uncap the pen, remove the mask.
Grab hold the thought
And caught, flinch not, nor blink,
Or who will think
To build, from vision, art
And put the shoulder to the task.

Inspired by a visit to the Art Institute of Chicago in June 2003.  Never let it be said that I rush my verse out the door.  Also I predict this will look absurd when auto-copied into Facebook.

Wasted in the Great Unknown

Vacant crowded streets of stone
Recall a memory, unknown.
Beneath the neon, not outshone
By women tan and thin.

Displayed like sirens from inside
Where crystal walls the world divide
And by revealing, coyly hide
A golden mannequin.

Which lightly trying to beguile
Mind to thoughts more versatile
Removing clothing, thoughts, and smile
Opening to view

So much of skin, a golden lotus
Hoping for a moment’s notice.
Yet my thought, sad and remote is:
All I want is you.


Pansies are pansies, or so I’ve been told.
And yet on my porch, hanging out in the cold
Is a potful of purple pigmenting the air.
It’s 40 degrees and they don’t even care.
Petunias for sale at Home Depot and Lowe’s,
Like my tuckus when outside all seem to be froze.
But the pansies are hardy, har har, so that spring
Being later than Elvis, just don’t mean a thing.
As the color so bright spilling out of their pot shows,
They’re misnamed as pansies. They ought to be machos.

Hey! Where’d the Cuttlefish Go?

Man, those color-changing creatures sure can be hard to find sometimes.

Digital Cuttlefish!
Bustin’ out rhymes
After all doesn’t pay.

His disguise is remarkable
Here and now gone! He just
Melted away.

Good luck, DC! We’ll catch you on the flipside.