A Halting Syntax

all a matter of timing
and the taste of sighs
‘We move in circles and the circles turn’
There is much to learn from a poem
those little intricacies
the sways and bends
that undeniable pleasure
of elaborate syntax
when there is no sin

Wearing Time

The toothless cogs of stilled machines,
Mills rusted shut in eternal closings,
The silenced pens of poets
without dreams:

That void
filled with chaotic schemes that only time
can turn toward their true mirror.

Every venture
is born indentured, a slave
to the pendulum’s swing,

What is that bangle
buckled on your wrist?
You wear it well.

In the Eyes of an Egret

Standing before a ‘natural habitat’
enclosed in wire and glass
with a crowd of people peering in,
I looked deep into unblinking eyes
of an egret with clipped wings
and wondered if this might be
life’s defining moment
for the egret
or for me.

I saw white plumage
meant to fly, stark black eyes
that revealed no secrets.
I wondered what the egret saw
when it looked back at me.
Did it see a creature with clipped wings,
with eyes that told too much?
Did it see me
as the enemy?

The silence between us
was a thread unwinding,
a  second of understanding
brief but unending
when I sensed that each of us saw
in the pupil of the other
a glimpse of two universes

To Touch the Sun

Leaving the haven of dark corners,
stepping timidly from shadows
to travel treacherous paths
in search of sun beyond the tempest,

For this second all is still,
The sky, as yet is undecided,
Dark with frown, it wears a hint of smile.

The mountains, stoic,
have seen such storms before.
The lake, a picture of dichotomy,
Who knows how deep still waters run?

Answers are for those
who brave the journey,
one must walk in light to touch the sun.

A Glance Back


rd out of town

A red sun
hangs low on the horizon,
The sky has begun its darkening.
A glance back
as we travel the road out of town,
A prayer for our journey
of the great abandoning.

too long held at bay,
Hope fast growing old, A glance back
at our history of winding roads
and pot holes, A prayer
for our tomorrow. May we never forget
where we started.

photo from WVstateparks.com 





An Enchantment

O, mellow fields
the stars are strung above you
in delight.  Fireflies flit beneath them,
everything is flickering.

There’s no need for a candle;
the night is warm, the moon is shining.
Flute notes of the nightingale’s song
whisper hints of ancient secrets.

The breeze says summer will last forever;
It is easy to believe.

In the Days Before Winter

The stark blue hills
…….stand smoky soft at dawn…

Painter, poet
save them as they are today

……………  unknowing

of the forest’s thinning,
unaware they’ve been mortgaged to the hilt
by guilty men who lack the heart
to stand their ground.

Even the kind hearted grow small
against the rising sun.
Smart and modern
we adjust creation until we have no home,
but I babble…

It is the hills that stand the test of time,
Soldiers fall like leaves, trees become poor poems
and those stacks that belched their smoke stand idle.
Bricks fall, fill the empty belly of the beast that fed us.

Ivy tangles and turns brown,
…..but every evening in the shadow
of a day that’s done,
the mountains stand tall in tortured stone,

They do not fear the dark.
Come morning when the sun is at a softer slant,
the smoky haze of day gives gentler hue

to hills that clasp their hands
and stay the storm.