The above is a photo of my son’s hand holding his
newborn daughter’s foot.  (July 21, 2000)


Identity Crisis

My shadow is as lithe as the light inside
no matter my faltering step.

I look to an all knowing sky
for answers. The moon greets me
with a grin.

Such communication is unsure;
Reconstructed it seems to prove
that less leaves us with questions.

Even the vanilla scented candle
flickering from my bureau sends
smoke signals I don’t understand.

The mirror returns my stance word for word
with only minor interpretation; even that
might be illusion.

Shine light, shine
Share your illumination.

Much Ado… HD 131399Ab


They said it was THE planet
where everything is just right…Ha
just another case of the grass is always

Turns out, it was no more than a star.
I have no doubt that somewhere
in the far reaches of the cosmos, exists a race
that is entertained by our ignorance.

Perhaps they’ve already found the end of the rainbow
and already know that somewhere in the great vastness
of space, there are two snowflakes exactly alike.
I bet they are never fogged in when the Perseids

make their grand display, nor would they ever
be away when that long awaited package
had to be signed for. Furthermore, I bet the phone
never rings when they are in the shower.

That special time that’s all their own.
How many hours do you suppose they waste a day?
Such issues don’t really keep me awake at night,
but they do have me wondering.

I’ll admit
what I really care about is their iambic feet
and the possibility of poetry
out of this world.

Forgiving the Wind

In the face of the storm
we hunker and pray
for calm.

We take each day as it comes.
Even during the harshest winter
we call out to spring

knowing it will happen.
Knowing the cold will remember
our bones

brittle and sore
our hearts scarred
and still hope never dies.

We are born to survive
never a doubt about it.
Here to beyond, we ascend.

Summer squall or tsunami
we learn early on to praise the sun
and forgive the wind.







Whose fault is it?
We’ve been cheated
by the seasons,

Felt the splash
beneath our feet when it rained
on our parade,

Mourned the early bloom
when a killing frost

We’ve been swindled
and duped, kept out,
cooped up,

But we’ve always
regrouped. So who
would have guessed

that precious ball of fur
would turn into such a beast?
They told us he’d stay small.

estrela mountain dog

Also known as the Cao da Serra de Estrela, the Estrela Mountain Dog is a large breed native to the Estrela Mountains in Portugal. This breed has been used to guard homesteads and herds for centuries and, because of its size, it is a formidable opponent to even large predators. (I’m happy to say the poem was inspired by the pictures and not personal