Category Archives: Poetry

Oh No No-No

We used to call them alligator pears before we learned how much we like their taste. Now breakfast lunch and dinner rarely dares omitting avocado. Mashed to paste it’s guacamole or a sandwich spread. Cubed it’s to a salad like … Continue reading

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House Arrest 2 (TV)

There’s welcome rain outside my window now, as if the clouds were cleansing all of us who hunker in our homes, obeying how instructed to forestall the ominous. A sunny day would be more difficult; we’re overcast and want to … Continue reading

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House Arrest One

Day 1 of 21 is not so bad. I’ve food enough for near 2 dozen meals, and though the present’s feeling strange and sad I like my house, and solitude appeals to me, at least for goodly chunks of time. … Continue reading

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Flustered at Russell

Three blocks away three years ago she lost direction. She was driving to my place, and somehow her location wires crossed. She called me, flustered. I began a race to her on foot. I said, “Stay where you are,” and … Continue reading

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Ridden and Written

I used to ride my bike most every day. I used to try each morning to compose a poem, or put 300 words in play, but into every life existence throws up circumstances outside our control; I had to take … Continue reading

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Will to Live?

“You never know,” my brother said to us at least a dozen times. “Folks everywhere assert they’d die without a lot of fuss, preferring end instead of endless care, eschewing tubes and dreading loss of mind, but something kicks in … Continue reading

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Opossum Love

At 6 a.m. one day last week, I heard a thump outside the window where I sat. I raised the shade to see what had occurred, and spied a pair of ‘possums going at it, either sex or play or … Continue reading

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Slippage

I always wanted to remember time. I’ve trained a natural talent to recall by taking notes in diaries and rhyme, and narrating my memories to all. Specific moments I have tried to freeze with photographs or lists I made in … Continue reading

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Unraised

Nostalgia’s mostly dangerous and bent, infecting memory with fantasy, and modifying fact until what’s meant as scarlet takes on tones of burgundy. So childhood’s remembered as a state that was or should have been replete with glee, and parents subsidize; … Continue reading

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Puttering

Perusing I-Can-Read books with my friend (who’s nearly 3 years old), he likes of late the Putter works. And though Sam will pretend to be a monkey, he won’t imitate the characters encountered in those books. The stories feature neighbors … Continue reading

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