• Monument


    A small, abandonded meadow grows
    Near the center of the town
    Few have heard the story of
    This forgotten, hallowed ground.

    Forgotten, too, those men who died
    Defending unpopular beliefs
    Few monument now recall
    Deed of rebels and of thieves.

    Only those who dabble in the tales
    Of local historic lore
    Even they will be forgotten
    When they speak and breathe no more.

    This small spot of land now valuable
    (It is dollars that mark the cost)
    Who needs reminders of a time when men
    Believed so strongly in a cause that lost?

    Words. whack, hallowed, stained, unfolds, blasts, center, dabble
    reveal, skill, hunt, thrill, shallow

  • In Nature's Hide-away

    In Nature’s Hide-a-way

    Days have lost their names, who cares
    We have the sun to guide us
    When it opens up the sky, we eat
    When it nestles in the piney wood
    We party

    Meanwhile we guide our canoes
    Through the murky, dreaming water.
    Bears and deer spy on us from the
    Shoreline. Lazy old carp tempt us
    From the muddy bottom. All of them
    Are safe.

    Our camp is in a no- hunting zone.
    It is a hotel for tired animals. The
    Only hunting allowed is for lost coins.
    At night the stars lend us their glitter.
    All the creatures that ever were nestle
    Among them. We walk quietly along
    The trails. Our only lantern is the moon.

  • The Almost finish

    The Almost Finish

    A pair of manufactured lions guarded the main house. The rest of the buildings
    Sprawled helter-skelter along the hillside. They contained little of value – some small lumps of fools gold, bright and deceiving in the afternoon sun.
    The business, the manufacture of small houses, all laid out on the “Shotgun” style” that did little more than keep the occupants dry in a rain storm.

    The days of the visitors had long vanished. Millions had once arrived, where the
    Faithful prepared for the “Second Coming” It lack of appearance had lead to the conclusion that this was merely another false alarm Pieces of metal still littered the grounds after every heavy rain. By mutual consent, these were no longer talked about.

    To the millions of visitors who took the journey on foot, a long hike for all, it became a miniature “Haz.” The origin of that idea belonged to small, cheeky fellow whose people had originally settled the town of Cleveland Ohio. No prospects in sight, he and his kin followed the sacred way south, establishing a chain of motels bearing the lackluster name of “Rest a While.”

    It was in this matter that the world did not end.

    Words: manufactured, lackluster, millions, cheeky, throat, honor
    room, piece, shot, side, hike, lions.

  • The Players of the Game

    The Players of the Game

    Praise be to the players!
    Those who approach carefully
    aware of old attachments

    · Let the present moment
    · Be scratched in the power of the game
    · Each movement leveled carefully.

    Watch out for the single ones
    Those players with a glint in the eye
    And a spare key hidden in the grain!

    Words: Players, level, glint, scratch, key, single, present,
    praise, grain, approach, attach, key

  • Charmed


    Wish upon a penny,
    A lucky penny or
    A four-leaf clover
    Green and dancing
    In the grass.

    Praying in the dark of night
    Beware! The dreadful
    Creatures of the dark
    Silently watching -
    A plague upon them!

    Curses on all the unbelievers
    Those who scorn the tarot
    Let their blood run cold.

    Oh! Kiss me quick!
    Don’t leave me here alone-
    Evil is waiting to seduce us

  • On the Road

    On the Road

    As we approach the edge of the cliff
    The houses are farther apart. Soon only
    The ruins of chimneys point the way
    Disaster has traveled. We whistle through
    Darkening hours – the porcelain moon
    Our only light. Here fortunes have been
    Ripped away, the pit of despair draws
    Near – our wish for protection grows
    Stronger. We pause for a quick drink
    Of courage, the moon dims, we travel on.

  • title-18651292

    Spring Chickens

    I miss our hens – the self assured
    Way they would waddle, sometimes
    With a trailing tail of chicks.
    Sometimes not. Confident in their
    Ability to control the henhouse
    And chicken run and any place
    They might scurry to when the
    Chicken yard door was inadvertently
    Left open.

    They always knew where the food
    Was kept, zooming in on an abandoned
    Pile of scraps and leavings. Did they
    Cluck on purpose to inform their sister
    Hens or was it some inborn instinct
    That sent them into the place where
    the food came from?

    Winters were awful, no doubt about that.
    A teakettle of boiling water in one hand
    And a hammer to smash the ice so the
    Girls were able to drink. Never a thank
    You, few eggs appeared in January and
    Those were often frozen hard as golf balls.

    Summer time was chicken time. As one
    By one and week-end by week-end their
    Numbers disappeared. As the spring’s
    Hatchlings grew more feathers, we tried
    To keep the layers and the pets. Then
    Another winter, lacking in sentimentality
    And the coops final doors were closed.

  • Beach Revolution

    Beach Revolution

    Steak sizzling on the grill
    Muffled laughter from the back of the tent
    Watch the seagulls zoom in close
    To our place of peaceful existence

    Hello moonlight! Hello stars!
    Hello you and me!
    Hello to all you un-numbered
    Peace lovers out there!

    We are stomping to the music
    Music, our language of love
    Love and peace are back to stay!
    Love and peace are here to stay.

  • Launching the Morning

    Launching the Morning

    Sharp, staccato barking greets us
    The Beagles have caught our scent
    One click of the gate propels them
    Across the pavement, into the field
    Into the joyous morning, the chase
    Begins, where countless creatures
    Before them have spread their scent.
    The jovial sun smiles across the
    Fields, our shadows lean., we smile
    And wait.

    And here they come! Through
    The grass, swift as fluid, tiny
    Rivers, fast and faster, shadows
    Leaping, the sheer joy of movement
    Sturdy beasts, their tongues hang
    Out, water is waiting, ready
    For the tongues, the slurping
    Tongues, the tails still wagging
    The morning captured, secured.

  • Iris Rising

    Iris Rising

    This is when the Iris bloom
    here, in the northern hemisphere.
    They clump together, stay with
    your own kind is their belief
    Today their leaves are drawn into
    sharp points – swords enough
    to arm a regiment of elves.

    Their multinational colors
    flaunt the mostly green border.
    A call to arms, to arms
    against the borers and beetles
    the gardeners’ fumbling hands,
    children helping themselves to
    a free bouquet.


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