Category Archives: Poetry

Today I’m grump enough that I’m appalled at all the ignorance so current now. My father quoting Kipling is recalled, or Noyes, or Lindsay’s architecture. How decided 7th graders not to learn? And why so uninformed the rest of you? … Continue reading →

Discarding a cigar today, I shook away 3 fantasies and ducked 3 dreams that aimed at discontent. An honest look at what could be’s a comedy that seems too trivial to mount. We’d leap ahead to all the bad – … Continue reading →

The escalator steps appear to rise from unseen depths. The handrails, black on chrome, are rubber belts that serve to synchronize the plantar with the palm. Beneath a dome of sectioned glass the moving stairs ascend though no one rides … Continue reading →

The man in front of me is playing rap – his radio invisible – aloud without an earphone on. He doesn’t clap but there’s an elemental beat as proud as myths of Africa, with lilting rhyme and lyric playing in … Continue reading →

Another patient would be filled with dread.A patient person might anticipatea dosage of discomfort. I insteadam almost eager for my dental date.I’m ready to recline and let him drillwho knows his work as well as I know mine.I get a … Continue reading →

The child’s father gives him fare to hell,releasing him with cigarettes and cashto Turk and something starting with an L.He’s cured of scabies and he’s acting rash. The adolescent’s daddy is a jerk,who can’t insist or guide and won’t enjoinfrom … Continue reading →

Increasing strain I missed the train today,retarded by disabled folk on stairs.The escalator, still, would not convey,awaiting more unscheduled repairs.It didn’t work to cut the time so tight, and now I ride a hopeful Fremont train. I’m trying to remind … Continue reading →

Today the banner tells of HIV mutating speedier than research learns, and yells of the arrest and mystery of some young homicidal Slav. The burns up north are caused by angry eremites, suburban-branded outcasts, pariahs of proms and teams who … Continue reading →

The infant sees a point, a line, a plane, but must live years to wrap himself around the temporal dimension. Shaped a strange phenomenon, with neither form nor sound, our moments of existence are as blind as phalluses, as mute … Continue reading →