You came up front, you said, to tell the truth, Not to re-tell the tale, not to pretend You had tilled this land, nor had held Your ear close enough to the ground To hear the sounds it made.   What now for your lost words that seem to come From the edge of another universe, To which I deemed bridges open, Retreating when your answer failed To arrive in due time.   Yet I find myself renewing your claim, Letting things fall, as they do, to the ground. I would rather retreat tha

Forever is a ring. Etched with jewelers’ precision on its underside, A promise that will outlast us both.   Forever the end date, as yet undefined. Until death, a friend asked? Further? Can there be a further without my knowledge or consent?   Forever is a moving feast, Leading to what is or isn’t.   Not the girl who sold me her heather, guaranteeing its luck would follow. Not the man who leapt confidently into the marina, not knowing he would repeat the process into eternity

Every word, every sentence, every meaning, Every kiss, every gesture, every feeling, Everywhere I go, Everything I do                                Leads me here to you Leads me here to you   Every sight, every motion, every blessing Every night, even silence keeps us guessing Everywhere I go, Everything I do Leads me here to you Leads me here to you   Here where the fields are always vernal Here where the sky’s almost eternal  Here where we don’t care what we’re handed Here

The Alphabet Poems is a series of poems, begun in July 2025, as both a creative outlet and a challenge to myself. The idea is to give...

Dave is only part of the story Dave lived in the 16 th 18 th 20 th 21 st and 22 nd centuries Dave was born in a shack just like our shack Dave woke up muttering confused and uncertain Dave should have been before but now it’s too late Dave sat across the table from you when you met him for dinner after the breakup Dave is back from the war having seen good friends die Dave’s pronouns are they/them Dave signed a million-dollar deal but was back at his day job within month

What to these stars is commoner than we? Yet ev’ry flower, every being Follows, has a stake in our survival, Defines the depths and limits of seeing.   Still, among ourselves we will separate Here as royalty, there as commoner, Need someone to look at us, askance, Declaring this to be the lone barometer.   We tend instead to the somnambular Stopping to wake, not to think or reflect. What indeed do we see as commoner? What chooses us or what we may select?   The same doubt cau

For Carolyn   I think I think of the world as is, but Before, after, during what was or may well be, Joining as we do, seeking sacred scattered longings and recall.   For instance, A satire in which we both indulged:   Me, scarf floating in the foggy breeze, Preciously luting madrigals boasting of true love, Petitioning for response and recompense from the gathered few.   You, reading by candlelight, listening to swirling melodies blown in from the outside, Hearing in deepest

Settled long ago, per the song. I must have learned it from you before I can remember. I know I sang it in reverence and in service, Wondering who holds the account, How I’d recognize the one who’d come to collect the debt I’d carried forward.   Yet now, as before, I sing. To something, anything Neither Seen nor heard; To the possibilities inherent in useless numbers Jotted somewhere in someone’s forgotten ledger.   Going through the papers now, pile after pile, Cast to a fir