Man or Ape

between being a militant pacifist
or a boring reactionary
I read the news and weep.

has little to do with it;
the dinner conversations
are always heated.

attentive to detail, there are nit pickers
in my history, necks stiff
from keeping their eye on the ball.

blinded by the light, we get down
but we seldom get it right
in this half-jungle tundra

of sinew
and synapse
and a fleeting emotion
that would bring a tear to your eye.

On the Wings of a Setting Sun

Atop the hill day makes its goodnight cry
in flame-red hues of myth and mystery,
Divine creation with a  breathy  sigh
burnishes earth in golden artistry.

Would I were that speck in majestic flight,
the wing’ed sparrow soaring high above
unfettered by melancholy twilight
nor taunted by the specters born thereof.

To feel the rush of wind beneath such wings,
to coast on currents warm with fading sun,
What makes the faith that lets the caged bird sing?
What wisdom lets a finished day be done?

Last vestiges of sun slip from my gaze
as melancholy turns to words of praise.

A New WordPress Blog


The Peaceful Pub came into existence in 2004.  It began with five members and by the end of the year we counted our blessings for the twenty additional poets and writers who had joined together at the Pub’s fireside. We celebrated every new member and every new post.  It was a great source of joy, camaraderie and some pretty awesome poetry and prose.  In May of 2005, there was a ‘great disaster’ and suddenly all of our efforts were wiped out by a ‘massive server hack’.

Pubsters are a hardy bunch and the group became a family. They/we did not quit. In fact,
The Pub flourished in spite of the ever-changing platform. As years accumulated so did our membership.  It sky rocketed; 2007-2011was our heyday. Even when Facebook began the death knell for forums, we maintained almost a thousand members, until this, our thirteenth year, when the decision was made that enough is enough.

Don’t forget, Pubsters are a family and they are not quitters. The result is a new blog.  It is a multi-faceted blog authored by a group of loyal and talented Pubsters.  I hope you will stop by to imbibe of the literary libations and to offer your support.

The Peaceful Pub



transplanted by love
from the suburbs
to the back hills

she barely remembers
nine to five
or the splendor

of a dinner party
where the cutlets were veal
not venison

slender as the poker
she uses to stoke the coal stove
a sapling has become an oak

frayed but regal
in her neatly patched dress
everything matches now

the burgundy sofa, the blue chair
dresses, slacks and shirts
all muted by the great equalizers

time and anthracite
that nefarious pair that leave nothing
untouched in these hills

no need for clocks
the expected whistle sounds
day shift is done at the mine

she touches a hand to her hair
smiles as her heart trips a glad song
he will be home soon.

The Road Taken (how it happened)

On the way to somewhere else
they met, briefly, on the road not taken,
not the one mistakenly referred to
as the road less traveled.

Two different roads entirely and
there was no map.  So many detours:
walks in the rain; a searching;
a discovering and a letting go.

That’s not to say there was no pain,
a pebble in the shoe, a bruise.
Houses that were never built
stand empty in the memory.

All that didn’t happen
just a paving for the road taken.
Noon sun in a feral burn,
evening laced with starlight,

A garden planted, the bloom
tended. It was more than random,
less than premeditated.
That’s how it happened.


Critics claim that Frost’s “The Road Not Taken” isn’t a salute to can-do individualism;  it is a commentary on the self-deception we practice when constructing the story of our own lives. It is touted as the most popular poem ever written in America and also the most misquoted. (most often mistakenly referred to as The Road Less Traveled). (according to The Paris Review)