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tiny things, bursting. molecular studies of grapefruit, clandestine affairs awash in moonlight. you feel me good. i’m not what you used to think i was, i think…

albuquerque. in the glare of a new mexico sun, caballeros with itchy b*lls. red leather fringe suits santa well in the southwest; the old guy dons woolen muffs for venturing into maine or northern minnesota.

door to door vacuum salesman wearies of ringing yet another bell. hey. it’s five o’clock somewhere…

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My poem The High Life appears in the spring issue of The Briar Cliff Review. It was written in celebration of fond yet weary memories of the days that followed after my father built The Timber Inn, a local watering hole – a clever play on words for my daddy, the sawyer.

I hope you will enjoy it.

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Gauzy recognition

vague eureka moments

Ah! This is what life has to offer. 

Then ~ blink.

Dingy gray-tones surround us.

We press onward,

arms outstretched.  Eyes wide open.

The foggy dimness ever present     hovering,

waiting.

Curl up, surrender, trudge on ‘til death?

No.

We hope, anticipate, strive for more

always more.

Reach

            for more.

And, still, more again…

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A poet in one of the writers’ groups I belong to recently self-published a chapbook anthology, the theme of which is writer’s block that includes my poem Poetry Group Beat Down. I wrote it after attending my first Omega Poetry group meeting where I was in awe of the many talented poets gathered around the table.