• Poems

    POEM: The Flavor of Grief

    I have been getting familiar lately with the flavor of grief. It comes on me with no warning. While driving up-river, to shelter-in-Nature. At 68 mph, passing a too-slow, white Chevy truck.

  • Essays,  Poems

    POEM: “Window No. 1”

    One of my earliest, notable windows was in the basement bedroom I shared with 
brother Rick. It opened to the left, sliding open with a satisfying 'chonk!' Revealing the level grass of our backyard.

  • Essays,  Poems

    POEM | “My Paragraph & I”

    'I want my paragraph to strut, carved cane in hand, the Left Bank, like a proper boulevardier. I want my paragraph to wow you. leave you wanting more. To, if possible, make you gasp. To make you—prose willing—cry. And then, to laugh. And then to laugh at your crying ...'

  • Essays,  Poems

    POEM | “Body of Evidence”

    'I'd no excuse not to grok the fact, or traffic in illusions of not growing old. Or denial of encroaching senescence. Or flipping the bird at Mister Death. It would halt nothing of my body's fade, of our decay. I was, perhaps, whistling past my future graveyard.'

  • Poems

    POEM | “Nous Celeron”

    'Don’t you, Nous Céleron,/wish to lay down your arms?/Enter the Ohio’s cool darkness,/or the Chinodahichetha!/Sounding out each syllable/as a Wyandotte/might utter them .../

  • Poems

    POEM | The Pledge

    We must imagine/a better country, after/the orange man in/the white house. Tote/our losses & our/wounds. Revelations/about our neighbor’s/secret selves. The sign,/the flag, rippling in/the wind. That says—/'Off with your head’ ….

  • Photo Essay,  Poems

    PORCH POEMS: ‘Ms. Nature & Mr. Death’

    So, my day, which when fortunate,/begins with coffee, cat, and dawn,/shifts at some point, to the deck, for some sitting beneath the same old sky,/only this time, eyes closed./Climbed up on the shore, out of thetumultuous stream of thought./I’ve yet to grasp the meaning/of your collaboration, Ms. Nature,/with your ally, Mr. Death.

  • Poems

    PORCH POEMS: ‘Overhead’

    ‘The clouds don’t care,’/ he said. Blowing a puff
/ of cigar smoke at me/ from across the porch.
/ I sent a pretty good
/ smoke ring back his way./ We were not
/ six feet apart, so could/ be killing each other, should
/ the virus hitch a ride upon 
our exhalations ...