Before the News

With sleep in its eyes
a new day yawns,
Mist swirls,

Pines stretch
like great specters emerging
out of the darkness.

A symphony
of morning sounds,
the orchestra invisible,

This could be  the time
before mankind,
before madness…

Freeze frame
this moment
of peace.



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


Willowdown Memorial on Wordflair

I was amazed at the kindness shown by so many when I posted the request for help in finding the family of Willowdown.  It is a joy to share with you that his family has been found.  His friends in England, Wales, and in the online writing communities all worked hand in hand to accomplish that.

We have put together a memorial that I wanted to share with you. You will find it at

My thanks again to all.



On Tiptoe

the stillness
of a mountain night
moss and stone

a sliver of moon

deer tracks in snow
ten thousand years of stars
tomorrow, wild flowers

branch tips touch
lullaby the night
with scent of pine


the sound
of drifting mist


In the stillness of the mountains
A fading sunset
slips from the horizon

A round moon
nods in passing as it rises
to settle at its post above the peaks

Even the breeze has hushed its sighing
Pine trees share a branch-tip touch
As if to end aloneness for a time

A million stars shine in the heavens
in tribute to the sleeping sun
The struggles for this day are done