Sunday, November 15, 2015


The tree quavers in the gale
beneath angry green-black clouds

Measuring each gust with leaves and
tiny bony fingers
grappling at the ends of each fearful branch.
Limbs panic at the winds cold kiss;
in violent hugs they sway and toss.

Rumors drain down the trunk
to gather amongst the roots.
Today will be the falling-day;
the one last trial and then gravity
will crash it’s span to earth.

Leaves laid down, not by autumn's chill,
but for the first time,
all still holding hands, 

left to wonder what comes next.

Bad News

I swore a new oath,
quit the paper
and the channels
of deaths news and vitriol

No more fervent apostles
rising extra early to greet my eyes,
lovingly preened and anointed,
readied to share their
never ending streams of gloom
seined from the wider world

Dripping their inky words into my daily water,
the billowing clouds of dark thunderheads
kill empathy with numbing repetition,
begetting angst
and the gray weariness
of dread

I do so miss the comics!

Maggie left on Friday

That last morning,
so alert, so soft, warm
and blue-eyed smiley.
Her grey and white so clean and freshly cut

I chose that eve of Halloween
to be her last.
With rain and bluster,
the sky readied to blow her
to another place

Upon a small rug she slept,
not hurting, snoring ever so slightly
The next needle would erase her from
that place and us

We could not watch death take her,
it would hurt too much,
to hear her last breath push out to join
the common air

The gentle teacher of dog-wary kids,
allowing them to walk her befriended,
She was the only sister Maddy ever knew.

Her curse was a Portland world
filled with steps and old tint stair treads
and slippery floors.
All  unkind to old hips and eyes

I miss you sweet Maggie-dog.
and will search for peace of mind,
Striving to somehow work off my penance.

Friday, May 1, 2015

mi animula

Oh, happy wandering soul of mine,
my guest that makes me whole.
You will now travel forth to another place,
while pallid and stiff, I lie bare.
As usual, dying too is but a joke.

(My effort at "interpreting" this old Latin poem attributed to Hadrian, Emperor of Rome)


“Animula, vagula, blandula
Hospes comesque corporis
Quae nunc abibis in loca
Pallidula, rigida, nudula,
Nec, ut soles, dabis iocos.”
—P. Aelius Hadrianus Imp. (138)