Category Archives: My Poetry

Uncle, part of Fucking and Sonnet 149

… On Saturday at Freddy’s Bar, which is a very nice bar by the way, I participated in a poetry reading that was a celebration for a new book of poems by Kryssa Schemmerling, Iris In. The other guest poet was Lynn McGee. On the […]


… The last two swallows swoop down over all going toward the barn flying from sight. In ripples of wind out of the west light dies in many clouds and in darkness falls on the pond. Shadows in leaves, the trees grew black in flat […]

from Fucking, Part 5

… V for Janis I’ve smoked a thousand cigarettes and watched you sleep. Your Raphael angel curls Your bee stung lips Dare I touch you where the sun hasn’t? Dare I say wake? There is the smell of pepper in your armpits, but not rank. […]

Sleep Vanishes

… … Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto. A few swimmers appear in a huge whirlpool. —Vergil … When sleep vanishes then you swim. Awake is no island merely swift stroke and breath. The moon is not the sun’s skull day is not what night […]


… Love comes when least expected and love comes like the rain blowing naked over us making us all wet. Love never makes a fuss. As I grow old, love stays forever young returning like the sun or moon, the truth that I’ve looked for […]


… I’ve an uncle who builds houses and he tells me I don’t write poems that what I write is vile and useless not good for anyone. There was a time I believed him his words allowed crippling all mine until I saw a word’s […]


… … Fireflies Like the tips of smoldering sticks or coals they glow in the grass. The light over all begins to go. Night like a swooping bat or bats comes down from clouds and the white pines out of the vast abyss where a […]


… To know the truth we need to talk and read. Two at least must do it, talker talker writer reader revealing things that we already know so absolutely sure of our own selves because somebody else was there to tell us. Juan Ramón Jiménez […]


… She completely sparkles, the girl talking to her father in a conversation that must be a little funny because she starts to laugh as well as talk, talking of her final destination perhaps leaving this very morning on a trip from Lancaster on the […]


… The butterflies have been here through it all my sadness and my happiness as well. No matter what is going on or how I feel at the very center of my poor self is a wanting to be filled by something beautiful. A simple […]


… “You are the flower and I am the grass,” the young man says to the young woman. “I am the flower and you are the grass,” the young woman says to the young man. “You are a bird and I am a fish.” “I’m […]

139 & 140

… There are rice paddies and the lotus pools the farmer in the field, his little dog gone jumping through the stalks, the plodding ox the low houses with terra cotta roofs the sleeping teachers sprawling in the bus and outside here and there a […]