Category Archives: Poetry

Arroganza

I’m old enough to study 50 years. Reviewing by the decades what I chose, I’ll state my adolescence had most tears, my 20s were cyclonic, but all those were humble when compared to what came next. I see it now … Continue reading

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Refractions

The parents had a trust. From out of state they bought the little condo for their son. Expecting it would still appreciate, they purchased without inquiry, so none of us had any chance to let them know about the next … Continue reading

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Spindle

Perhaps our spinning wheel was alcohol. Our parents had a cocktail many nights, and wine was shared on holidays, with all of us imbibing sips amid the lights of candles and the mammoth-plattered foods. But no one told us drunks … Continue reading

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Waiting for a Train

A little work, some lunch, a shopping walk are tasks that I’m required to complete today. The positives: my brother’s talk about his weekend, moving into heat from brisk and chill outdoors, the sunshine warm as kittens draped around my … Continue reading

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Smoking

I took up smoking 50 years ago. A little pot in high school started me. Progressing to tobacco, deep and slow as if it were the same commodity, I purchased Winstons through my college years, and switched to Players when … Continue reading

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Emotional Looting

Misfortune is the sorry lot of some, but here most folks I know contend with more good times than bad. Experiences come that send one soul to gladness just as sure as someone else is thrust into despair. Catastrophe contains … Continue reading

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Obvious

Six months after divorce, I patronized the neighborhood café we used those years. The owner welcomed me with glad surprise and asked if John still drank. It now appears each time he fetched us treats, he’d down white wine – … Continue reading

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Nine Inches

My daughter told me Portland has no plows, for snowfall seldom sticks. She said a mere two inches and the infrastructure bows. Quadruple that and pavements disappear, a tram derails, the buses pop their chains, and sunny icy days ensue … Continue reading

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Meditation Block

The route from home to BART has pleasant views, a gentle downward slope, infrequent stops – it’s sustenance for senses, walking news, but Alcatraz to Woolsey has no shops. Pedestrians like me, who people-spy, will find a house attractive but … Continue reading

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Landing

Approaching San Diego from the sky, I’m staggered at how wide the place has grown in 50 years. Through airplane glass I spy a million houses, each a planted stone, aligned as if in labyrinth. Somewhere a center is, but … Continue reading

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