In the mist
of the evening
Above the rooftops
In grey of night ,
The stars concealed
From the naked eye
All except
For the high sweet
Light of heaven,
In the dark of a latent sky,
And a distant sound of
Gentle wings In flight,
Is heard
from above,
light as the air,

Man in a Leather Shop

Man in a Leather Shop

He looked at me
He was 73
He had had open heart surgery,
And colon cancer,
He took 16 pills a day,
And yet somehow
He was younger
Than most people
That I know.

The Moments Notice

The Moments Notice


The water casts
Its waving
chain link net,
Moving up and down
a shimmering
ultra blue and rose.
It glides,
A haunting melody
of the Dream boat queen
That only a single listener
Truly knows.
Single song, familiar ode for two
Your wistful staining of
The night paths,
Is soaking though
All the evening pavement
And into pedestrian clothes,
As the children sing in
In a single chorus voice, while

Playing all the games that children play A.D.

The chefs in their
morose, are wondering,
Behind their tall black bars, pondering their Woes, taking off tall hats,
just what they did,
To have to serve their time.
Who knows ?
Botero’s  ladies sit in twos, talking, fast food fed and airing folds by laundromats.
The mounds of load, low lying,
suffering road;
Seated, their half brick walls
Are fed with stress.
And the flaneur’s eyes,
are eyeing
All the spaces
now presenting selves
between the buildings
as he goes.
Spaces that become the upward arrows
of rose bud, blue and mauve,
the odd one
Crowned with arches or a pale leaf gold
And all this time, not knowIng
just what and
How close death
may really be;
hanging on
The certitude of
and flower,
Low lying fruit
for the unexpected
notice to arrive at the appointed hour.

Afternoon Interlude

Afternoon Interlude


Lapping of waves
Against the shore,
The blanched
felled tree trunk
white with sunlight,
Stones, pebbled,
and worn,
formerly of
balustrades and curbs.


The pillared courtyards
Of existence
Olive skinned
With dark long

The saunter of bones
Across the road
With eyes dark, deep
The flesh bound
Over the eternity;
Existence beyond
The curves.


Beloved curves
With your hidden
Opening up
To absolve
The will.
Certainty engulfed,
lost in waters,
that the winds caress
and skim,
As if one holding,
waving with ease,
Three black feathers,
While sandals
Dangle in another hand,
A demiurge’s
Moving the poplar leaves of trees
That dance and flicker
in the sun,
That are casting midday
In the sand.

Something to Consider on Father’ s Day

To many who will be celebrating Father’s Day this way tomorrow. I still miss my Dad after over 41years. A father & mother are imagemeant to be cherished. I have always thought our purpose here in this world is to hopefully learn and progress, not to regress, if we have the courage to profess what we’ve learned, our faults. I’ve learned a few lessons as a result of this early event of loss in my life but I’m still earnestly trying to figure it all out to the best of my ability. The main takeaway I see is that all things in this world are temporary except for authentic love; the kind that includes forgiveness.

” As much as you wish for, as you hope for, a remembrance of your childhood, for those who left, those that were lost in their sleep…that ever, ever, endless expanse of tombs, as much as you ask for the bodies, the forms that you once loved, to bow down before the harsh boughs of the plane trees….”

-George Seferis “Epiphany”

Artist Glare


The days without sugar

Are many.
The brain
Tunneling its
along paths.
A solitary journey
among the glare
Of crowds
Crows fly up
Into the sun
From the wheat field.
Only in the drop
Of the heart
and of the
Are handles
To love,
And to kingdoms
The western flower.