Monthly Archives: December 2015

Your Eyes

and your eyes at each meeting

oh how they would swallow

my being entire – there, all,

fell deeply into their gray-blue

and when you walked away

oh how I would stay on

locked in steel-blue – warm, gone,

lost in the eternity of you


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Dead and Walking

out and about again

among the dead again

they’re dead and don’t know

no idea in their mind

about what they are:






they’re dead and

walking the aisles

of the Dollar Store

of the grocery store


buy it. it’s on sale.

I’ll put it on my MVP Card.

we’ll need more later.

don’t forget the crackers.

be sure to get dog food.

is that enough meat?

what to have with it?


the dead keep walking,

shopping, buying, talking

they’re dead and don’t know it

apparently, so am I


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I Am

I am a dying leaf

clinging to the mother tree

in a high autumn wind

I am unique crystal

frozen in the heavens

wafting into the drift

I am the grass blade

attempting to reach above

all others to see beyond

I am the passing cloud

shape-shifting by moment

desiring to be seen

I am the mountain

the rising peak watching

over surrounding landscape

I am the wofting breeze

caressing all about me

to bring peace and comfort


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Something and Nothing

and the day spent asking what

will we have for dinner

or that moment when you realize

you haven’t checked the mail

or when the time comes that I’d

better go check to make sure we’re locked up

or the surprise the phone call brings

that today you’ll have special company

or the rare opportunity to really

talk, to share, the one-on-one

or the pain that arrests you dead

in your tracks sucking out all desire, joy


it is all something

it is all nothing


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Bicycles and Aftershave

every time it’s the same




up comes the pickup

taking up the driveway

then he steps out

short gray hair

gelled and spiked

looking like a grayed


within his first few steps

it hits you –

the strong smell of

cheap aftershave

enough to choke you

hanging in the air

so heavy that you

don’t just smell it

you can taste it

it’ll hang there for

hours after he’s gone


it always does


he and the old man

will talk about bicycles

or trailers or hand carts

then a deal will be struck

he’ll drop off a couple

(they’ll sell fast enough

sitting in the front yard)

then he’ll be gone


the aftershave

will be here for a while


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Done to Death

come and sit with me

talk awhile and share –

while the lonely have

themselves locked in,

followers chase their

beloved bounty,

despots rule masses

with iron fists,

the sad and desperate

only find sadness –

it’s the world outside

but here we can talk

we can share

let them do and be done

let them rise and fall

let them see and be seen

let them earn and spend

doing all in the name of happiness

as if they know what it is

they do and are done

done working

done loving

done listening

done giving

done caring

done living

they’ve run their race

been put out to pasture

and are now ready to

be put down – done


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The Hidden Photo

our smiling faces snapped at exactly the right time

sitting there among our favorite holiday toys

placed in a simple, cheap frame

my grandfather perched in his rocker at our entry

his requisite greeting meets us, a simple, “Hey!”

my grandma, her normal glum self, said little if anything

but we, the willing tweens, persisted on our mission

to present the frame

to our silent grandma seated in her own rocker

her reaction one of unwilling acceptance.


our mother, behind us,

watching this exchange with our paternal matriarch

speaks up with, “They wanted you to have this.”

grandma replies simply, “Okay.”


conversation drags while grandma holds the new photo

loosely on her lap


when she finally stirred to rise from her chair

we knew it was time for our photo to find

its rightful place

displayed among the dozens filled with grandchildren

her choice – a bookcase tucked behind grandpa’s chair

the disappointment grew knowing there it would stay

our faces would remain obscured

our photo



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Passed By

something just passed by

flown high overhead

making a second pass

downward then high

into the heights unseen

a dark, cryptic force

left a stain on my eyes

cast shadows on my mind

though unknown, I fear

what it might foreshadow

and adjure it to never return

though I’m confident it will


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The Distance

the distance between us

is not measured in feet

no miles, no inches

can measure it

it’s not a matter of stripes

whether political

racial, religious or social

there is a gulf

either great or small

and it is created

neither by you nor I

by a land mass

oceans or the impassable

we are kept separate, brother

by an influence

we are kept separate, sister

by a confluence

their message

broadcast day and night

by every means possible

reminds all of us

of a manufactured

contrived difference

between us all

the distance between us

is small

the distance between us

is imaginary


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a box, a

once-full aspirin bottle, a

candy bar wrapper, that

tube from the paper towels, that

discarded past-due notice, a

torn up note you never delivered


these are our lives

and while we see what we do

who we talk to

tasks we complete

the people we call friends

or the emotions we have

as the definitions

of what our lives are

we can also check the garbage


look in there and

you’ll see pieces of your day

evidence of a meal

bad news being ignored

the junk mail that

didn’t used to be junk

that once-cherished busted

plate you dropped on the tile


lying in pieces

buried in worthless

debris are small

and maybe meaningless

pieces of you life

tossed in the garbage


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