Inside her room where bodies spent On a sweat-stained couch marking days With voices raised and a window where love went. How she wanted iambic pentameter A drinking song to sing upon the Chesapeake. Annapolis has moved on, so has… Read More ›
Poetry
A Reading of the Poem; “When Love Becomes Still-Life.”
I assure you, this 2:43 seconds will leave you breathless and your heart beating faster. You will know at once what poetry is, what art is, ….You will know, and you will not be able to forget.
Reading of the poem, CHURCH CIRCLE
When I returned to ANNAPOLIS, I parked at a meter near Church Circle to have my dinner and beers at Stan & Joe’s Saloon. I had not seen this 300 year old circle in almost two years and this early… Read More ›
Third Week of Every July
Those times taking the children to the shore Vacationing from work All the buildings in a city And lack of horizons there. Our lives were deep breaths on a strong pier. We held that breath Till the next year…. Read More ›
A Clean, Well-Lit Room and an Elevator To Escape The “Nada.”
In a Hemingway’s short story he showed the way to escape the pain of the “nada.” In order to survive with dignity, to cheat the “nada,” one has to find a place, a pleasant place, “with the light, a certain… Read More ›
Annapolis, Streets Always Crowded
Church Circle, This town’s marquee Ringing bells of 300 hundred years Opens a curtain, Two shows a night Coming and going Ghosts get in free. Going at midnight Aging in my walking Limping red brick to red brick Toward… Read More ›
Grain of Sand
Don’t underestimate your life, Your dreams or your place in history. I know you feel as “just a grain of sand” Among trillions, helpless and caught in just one wave Among trillions crashing onto shores. Life and others will… Read More ›
OUTSIDE BAR
OUTSIDE BAR Humid night in June Under an ascending crescent moon. Fingers twisting her matted hair behind one ear Pulling it all to one side Leaving a shoulder bare. Her beauty is crescent And I, drinking my beer… Read More ›
The Last Thing To Go
Where kisses go that’s been kissed, All kisses ever kissed? A list of things pressed to my lips, Foreheads, cheeks, inner thighs, Bourbon or the sweeter sister rye. There must be an immortal trace Of kissing, Like judgement for my… Read More ›
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… Read More ›
