To an Oak

Wind-shook, gnarled tree,
bastion of Earth’s slow breath
and Spring’s sap rising,
you are brave
and I, at best, am brief.
There are no such things
as small deaths. Dreams
die hard; wisdom
is a slow learning.
Having long since flown
the nest, I return at last
to embrace these roots.

Cluttered Bookcase? The Benefits of Horizontal Stacking by Nicholas Conley

via Cluttered Bookcase? The Benefits of Horizontal Stacking

Note: Having tried Mr. Conley’s ingenious strategy for efficient use of space,
I find the proof is in the pudding,  or in the bookcase in this case.  See pictures below.


I put the most used books on the shelves at far left.  I kept them in the ‘normal’ alignment
because I use them almost daily. The center book case was entirely taken up by notebooks of my writing,  Using the Conley Concept of Horizontal  Stacking, I was able to store all the note books in just the center sections of those shelves leaving me room for a couple dozen books in the freed spaces. Only part of the tall bookcase on the right is visible. It holds three horizontal stacks side by side on each shelf. Using the Conley Concept of Horizontal Stacking, the ‘tallest’ shelf space on the tallest bookcase now holds 30 books (previously it held 14.)  The skinny section just under the top shelf holds CDs.


The rearrangement of the shelves translates to a clear desk top which was previously covered with stacks of books that had no other spot to call home.  But…

I’m wondering if there is a solution for this bulletin board.  It has at least four layers of
notes and quotes and cards and other mementos that simply must not be disturbed. I need it where it is (full face in front of my desk) because it inspires me.  Okay, I guess
I’ve answered my own question.  I suppose it’s true, creative minds are not always tidy.


Reaching for the Moon

Something inside me
wants to touch the moon,
to walk past the million stars
that guard entry from the earth.

I want to clear the shadows
that trail across its face and wake
renewed, before the flood, before
the tree. I want to float free

of everything, especially gravity;
I want to dance with a moonbeam.
Instead, I sit with my back to the wall
and dream.

Setting Dreams Afloat

So many years ago
we set paper boats afloat
without a care

We were unaware
how fragile they were
or how precious their cargo

Maybe we had an inkling
when you held the seashell
to my ear

and whispered softly
Listen to the sea
it will tell you its secrets

I pull the box down
from my closet shelf
lift the shell to my ear

and listen again
to the secrets
of the sea

I think the voice
is meant only for children
and dreamers

I hear it clearly

We cannot turn the tide…

leafy limbs emboss
a blue sky – August
keeps April’s promises

some things
like poems and old dreams
return to us in sunsets

tides, oblivious
to our whims, take direction
only from the moon

almost adept at walking upright
and using tools, we’ve been known
to stumble or bruise a thumb

wind tossed
we wander, sometimes
fingertips touch


Blog continuing — Poesy plus Polemics

Thank you for all the condolences and well wishes. I don’t think my father truly knew the amount of people he was able to reach out to with his poetry. My family and I plan on keeping my fathers blog active with his poetry. Please bare with us as we try to figure it out […]

via Blog continuing — Poesy plus Polemics

Paul’s poetry has become a part of the daily lives of so many.  We will all miss him. It is sad to say farewell to a poet friend, but what a joy to know he’s writing in heaven now.

Rest in Peace, Paul.

Sunrise by the Sea

Where rolling surf laces the sand with foam
and emerald seas sit calm beneath dawn’s sky,
dolphins roam the range from shore to depths
spied only by the blest; or by the wise
who rise and shine with the morning sun.

Beyond the sidewalks, beyond the boardwalk,
far beyond the antlike industry of man,
When Nature talks waves crash, not markets,
The bombing here is done by gulls and terns;
they need no war to make them free.

Stay the hawking vendors from this temple,
a garden paradise fit for the likes of Eve or Guinevere,
Apples here don’t bear the bite of asp,
Where sun and shore share sanctity
the signs are of the seasons, not neon.
Rapt in the peace of the new horizon,
lulled by soft sonatas written in those holy times
when man and elements blend in harmony,
meager mortals
touch eternity.