Thursday, July 2, 2020


    A stratum of existence
    Exists beyond the words
    At our disposal – some of
    Us yearn outward toward it,
    Others anxious to belong
    Join in ignoring the
    Confusion with their kin.

    Surely, some say,
    There is nothing beyond the
    Words we use to define
    The universe – words originated
    In our prehistoric battles
    With clubs and spears made
    Of wood and antler horn.
    At twilight I can hear
    An acapella choir singing
    Music I can somewhat
    Grasp through words
    Beyond my ability to
    Clearly hear, and seemingly
    Anyone’s to believe.

Half way

    It was half way
    She had been wanting,
    Her father in Indio,
    Her brother in Garden Grove.
    San Jacinto in the middle
    Was neither a city,
    Nor off-grid
    As I had wanted
    During the decades
    Of years in buildings
    Building DC-8s, KC-10s
    And C-17s; and wishing
    More that she could be
    As she could no longer be.

    She, wild at the start,
    Someone to set a heart
    To racing, fearless behind
    Me on a Yamaha, racing
    Between the lanes, speeding
    Up before the sickness
    Slowed her down.

Wednesday, July 1, 2020

A Dialogue part two

    Grim-faced Lawrence, erstwhile        
    Marine, did you think I’d change
    The cosmos on a whim? You
    Wished those many years ago
    And I gave you what you sought,
    Her to be cared for, and you
    To have something to do.

    I extended her life beyond
    Her doctors’ predictions,
    And yet you brayed like
    Balaam’s ass when you
    Experienced her inevitable
    End.  Do you accuse me
    Now of trickery or lies?

    Am I some devil and you
    A Faust to make me give
    Her back after all these years? 
    Set aside your vaunted knife
    And gun.  Who knows,
    I may have you write some
    Trifles in days to come.

A Dialogue part one

    After coffee, taking the dogs
    Out back and half way through
    My morning workout, I needed
    To be quiet so as not to
    Wake Susan; then looking up
    At the mirror recalled,
    And all that had

    Gone before returned
    In muffled thoughts
    Matching the mercurial fog –
    No jogging, I would
    Work harder with weights,
    Not willing to go down
    Placidly in the coming

    Eventuality. At my
    Desk, sipping espresso,
    Ghostly thoughts be
    Damned, I’ll be ready
    With hand-gun and
    Ka-Bar, and not go
    Out without a fight.

Going Home


    Ben and Jessica stopped,
    Bodies rigid.  I reached
    For my non-existent gun
    As the earth irrupted
    Screeching like a tin roof
    Bending beyond its limitation.
    Seeing a brilliant churning
    I climbed up from the sea,
    Seeing Susan at the tiller
    With wind sweeping her hair
    About her head.  I sat there,
    Water dripping from my mask
    Watching her never wavering
    Eyes as she steered toward home.

The Inevitable 4th

    We were running then –
    I favoring my right leg –
    Explosions rocking us –
    The gigantic alien being
    Walking wherever he
    Would, unsubject to political
    Fervor or the petulance of crowds –

    Little hope then we
    Could avoid his feet,
    Being in his way
    And not anticipating where
    He was going or what
    He craved, droll though
    The thought, he being deaf

    And blind, riding time
    With no concern for
    Tanks spread out
    Or planes raining
    Down behind.  His steps
    Though irregular were
    Thorough, nothing thwarted.

The Goose

    I was five and my
    Recollections are faulty,
    So they’ve said.  Mother
    And the rest.  My father
    Told me years later,
    He was a Dachshund,
    Dusty, not the goose

    Whom I won at the fair
    Throwing a hoop over her
    Head, leading her off
    To my parents surprise,
    My prize, having been
    Told whatever I won would
    Be mine in perpetuity.

    It was the Depression
    Then; so they said,
    Or something similar, and
    Geese were for eating,
    They told me after dinner
    And after I rushed out
    Back to find her gone.

    Later I was given Dusty
    Whom I loved in consolation
    For the goose, a perfect
    Dog loved by almost everyone
    There being no fences
    People knowing him
    By different names.

    When I was ten he was
    Run over by a car and
    My parents divorced. Ten
    It seemed was old enough
    For those sorts of things.
    We lived with Hill Billies
    And took the bus to school.

    We then lived with Bonnie
    Hilligas and I had a collie
    Until he barked too much
    And was taken to the pound
    While I was at school.
    She was a harsh woman
    With no dogs of her own.

    I can still remember
    Dusty’s death, his body
    Brought home and buried
    In the back.  My parents
    Divorce though was childish
    In its own way.  Lipstick
    On a collar was all I knew.