Don’t Wish Me Happy Birthday Without Reading Lines or Snorting Some.


Instead of birthday wishes, consider some lines from my poems which are worthy of a read, and with my ego, a head bow from John Keats or tip of the hat from William Butler Yeats. For most of you who do not care for poetry, consider this a “Reader’s Digest” version and not time consuming.

They belong to you, no longer mine, even though my voice is strong.

Here are some lines from poems, and my gift to you in honor of my coming birthday. Better sharing this now than when I’m dead.



When Love Taste Like Paste:

Writing with chalk

On concrete slabs

Where wind cannot turn pages

And rain falling with an erase”


When Love Becomes Still-Life:


“Hear the awkward rolls of red apples

Thumping off the wooden table,

Falling from Paradise

When love becomes still-life.

Nothing is louder than a heart unforgiven

So you let go,

And allow Van Gogh into your kitchen.”


Church Circle:


“Entering the weather

And then the church in the circle’s womb

Perhaps to pray for a man

Who writes these words on wafer for her to consume.”

Third Week of Every July:


“I watched you die many times

Until it became normal as morning coffee.”




Black Walnut Cove:

“Where love once cast at first sight,

Blood bleeds into the occipital lobe

And blinds the dreams that bind,”



Sometimes Twilight Does Not Appear:


“Thus hope or despair is endless

When Earth’s longer spin is without twilight.”


Flake of Snow:

“I want to drop like rain,


From this great height,

But I am snow

And am what heaven has iced.”



Day Without Demands:


“Newspaper pages turning

As the Sun cast shadows through the French door pane.

All kindle for the coming burning

On a day beginning without demands.”



The Contender:


“Death was playing with him,

Jabbing, setting him up for the knockout.

He would have none of it

And say; “I can take him, he’s a clown.”

Just by the edge of the bed,

Rings the remembered bell of every round.”



Relief of Proving:


“Maybe it was the way the camera hung on the wall,

Moving side to side

That long lateral “No!”

It scanned us all,

Made you want to hide

As the eye does lateral sleuthing,

And relief of proving.”


St. Elizabeth’s Bus Stop Lament:

“But how many of us left love

As a dangling participle exiled

In the United States?”





You have to lay the bike down

Choose what to bruise,

And see what survives the gravel ground.”


The Wind:

“Vibrant veins that once gave flesh to sky

Now fall in gusts of folly,

Autumn tears of summer’s lies.”



“Is it really about feeding the birds

Or is it about letting go?”


Going Out:

The music and the moon is hung

In the air around his flight.

But one thing he left a mess

In search of worthiness this night

And his desire to be kissed;

His sloppy, unorganized broken heart

Cause only one can groom what he missed.”



“Sunshine faded from gold to gray,

And remembers her rider

Who fell from his mount of love.”


The Whore in the Ford:

“She gets behind the wheel of her Ford.

Belongings piled to the back window,

Glancing the rearview mirror, seeing her sons,

Until ghosts mingled with dust raised acceleration,

And a radio country song

Drowns the voices she hears calling, “mom.”



“Left us drinking alone

Some Irish Ale

Or heavily tannin wine.

That handle is still tied to the rail

In the tavernacle of the mind.”


Categories: Poetry

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

4 replies

  1. Love it. Do more

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Such a substantial post. My fave lines from “When Love Taste Like Paste!” I also love “Going Out.” You really should have put links in for those of us who DO care for poetry. When is your birthday? FB is being rather vague.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I really enjoyed the read, made me smile and laugh


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