Small Blessings

Sunset Over Oakwood Park

All day long, everything
swam in sunlight
until the shadows shifted,
slowly lengthening and
making the greens greener
where I rested, heavy-lidded
in deepening shade,
longing to lounge
at least another hour
under the influence of
breezes and birdsong
on the best of all possible
April afternoons.

Immeasurable time later
after hours of bliss
the shadows merged,
stretching to the park’s edge.

A fleeting fire
hid behind the oaks;
the darkness deepened;
the sinking sun
became a final sliver of gold,
and was gone.


An earlier (much less polished) version of this poem was published waaaaay back in 2011 in the inaugural issue of Curio Poetry. If interested, you can read it HERE.

QNv 12
~ Small Blessings ~


Paraeducator Blues

Classroom Support

He’s assigned to
the 7th-Grade Chorus.
Again. Again. Again.

Long before New Year
they’re rehearsing Auld Lang Syne
like it’s a new song

If he has to hear it
one more time
or even if
he hears her say
“One more time”
one more time
he’s going to make her
eat that fucking piano.

Poets And Storytellers United
~ Always Learning ~

Song Of My S(h)elf


Song Of My Shelf

I’d like to convince myself that I’m
outside, walking in the woods
but there’s no forest here in my office
except the single stained-glass juniper
hanging in the west-facing window.

Beneath the juniper, a shallow plastic dish
holds a few small stones, some sand
and a basking plastic alligator.

I’d like to believe I’m not just sitting here,
keyboarding; that I’m outside, breathing
the last of autumn’s air, walking in woods
or skirting the edge of the Everglades,
sitting in the shade of a juniper tree and
hoping the gator keeps his distance.


QNv 11
~ song of my s(h)elf ~


It must be Wednesday
—I’m not feeling creative—
I’ll just hold my breath

Maybe tomorrow
(Meanwhile I’ll do some reading)
Maybe. Maybe not.

The Trigger

The Trigger

Soon enough, ice will fill the air;
fill all space with freeze.

Sound will recede and vanish,
damped under a frozen muffle.

Familiar landscapes will change, contract,
and lose all identity, masked in a new white.

Darkness, frost, and silence conspire
to foreshadow today’s tomorrow:

a recollection of snow;
a remembrance of earlier ice.

dVerse Poets
Tuesday Poetics
~ other days / recall ~


After Ingestion

After Ingestion

With a single pen
in each hand
he writes three stories

the mystery of wait

the tale of the twice-told secret

the dream of the planet, swaying

~ listery ~
Twiglet #252
~ swaying world ~




Inside Winter

Inside Winter

The snow is only a paper snow today, only a
story of snow outside the window, and the snowdrifts
I pass in the hallway are only paper snowdrifts.

This morning’s lit with imaginary light.
I bask in bed from nine until noon, a new man
in mid-November under the same old imaginary sun.

The sky today is a painted sky
and the imaginary sun is only pinned to it
the way a child pins a paper dragon to a bedroom wall.

Outside, I can see the air in motion. I watch it
through the window, remembering the snow
is only paper, blowing away, but forgetting to fade.



Miserere Nobis

Miserere Nobis

Enough’s enough.

Who’s killing who
or how they’re doing it
just doesn’t matter anymore.

‘Why’ matters, though.
Until we figure out why
then change our minds
and change our ways
you know it won’t stop.

We won’t stop.
(It’s not an ‘it’, it’s us.
It’s all of us.)

Make no mistake:
There’s no good ‘why’.

Don’t be misled:
You’re not just you.
You’re us.
You’re all of us.

All our guns should misfire.
We could make that happen.





He wanted to
but he couldn’t.

She wanted to, too
but she wouldn’t.

It just wouldn’t do;
their distances grew.

Nobody’s wishes came true.