Category: Poetry

Here are many of the poems I have written throughout my life, dating back to high school, so beware. As a poet, I’ve been pretty sporadic over the years, going through periods of high productivity when I was very young, to occasional bursts in midlife and very occasional drips as I’ve gotten older. I’ve found that the drips of my later years are far more appealing than the bursts (sometimes outbursts) of my youth, so I came to an accommodation. Instead of presenting everything here, I went by a standard of “that which is at least forgivable.” There is much in my moldering files, I’ve discovered, that is not. I’m sure you’ll find some of the work pretty engaging. Whether in the process of cataloging my expressions and impressions from across the years, I have weeded out all that indeed is unforgivable I, with some trepidation, leave for you to decide.

Flakes of Oil

(From my novel Within the Bosom) Oil in flakes, dripping; clattering against the floor, making little rattling sounds like the toenails of mice on hardwood or dried leaves bouncing off a glass pane in the wind. Joy as salt, stinging; tumbling into old wounds, burning away afterthoughts like a matchstick just doused on bare skin or Read More …

Charcoal Wink

… and if no other misery age.                             — Ben Jonson “Welcome. ” His grin a mossy green crescent. Seething charcoal eyes wink with compatriot fire. Impeccable tuxedo. Bony, pocked, gray, rice-paper palm uplifted, friendly. “Would you like to have a look Read More …

A Rebuke of Irony

Deaf Beethoven. Blind Monet. Mute Granger. Man of the pen. Disciple of Algren, Sandburg, Norris. Contemporary of Royko, Kup, Mabley. Bereft of his words, Trapped for his own safety, mentally to paw aimlessly through the grimy politics of ’60s, ’70s and ’80s Chicago like Degas – yes him, too, blind  – wandering the streets of Paris. He Read More …

Pink Clouds

The early morning clouds of pink awoke me — So softly and so gently shook my arm. The dew that settled on my nose refreshed me. It’s richness to awake without alarm. I took a gentle step toward the tree there; Of course I first popped the sleep from my joints. And now I can Read More …

The mute page

Herewith, the mute page the silent ink, the dumb pixels, devious soundless shapes, making so much noise. Yes, loud! The boom of mountains exploding, reverberations that bring pain to your ears, cause your shoulders to shudder, your teeth to shatter and crack! Then what? The plunge to a cottony hush? A whisper, faint perhaps but solid Read More …

Encounter

I never hear them howl. In the movies, their mournful yodel fills the night. In the suburbs, we know them only when our bichons go missing from the back yard. Her I see on a gray mid-morning while out for a walk with Rose, a real dog, 35 pounds of meat packed tight as a sausage in Read More …

Sad limerick

Her best friends turned her tune meant for fun To a dirge with two twists on one tongue. Finding what they were after, She choked on their laughter And coughed up her voice ever on. Facebook Twitter Google+ LinkedIn