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Poetry

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FROM SEAWARD AND OTHER POEMS

Seaward Escaping the harshnessof a pandemicI swim for this                                  ...

A Study on Four Artists

I. Van Gogh’s Patch of Flowers Flaming red, they gleam in the sunlight of Arles,The poppies in summer strewn along the paths.The artist shuffles by,...

Buying Newspapers in the Evening

I buy the morning paper at night,close to midnight when the pavementsbreathe freely. I’m like a brisk walker aimingfor less calorie. Everything is availableon...

Chopin’s Valse de L’Adieu

After a year of hesitant whispers, Their mutual nodTo terminate the engagement. Clouds of unknowing Drift over Paris, The syllogism of parting Known only to Maria WodzińskaAnd him.  Perhaps, it...

Flyleaf

Of fairy tales and future fakes, We twist our limbs until they break We force the fit of gown and gold We try to do as we are told But all our stories lost their way And all our stories end today We’ve had a sigh, a single pause We’ll start again with “once there was...

Buying Newspapers in the Evening

I buy the morning paper at night,close to midnight when the pavementsbreathe freely. I’m like a brisk walker aimingfor less calorie. Everything is availableon the net and I know I am buying history.I love taking walks, after buying what’s leftof the morning papers,...

Dale As I Explain to Him This Weird Thing Called Love

Is love visceral? Is love political?We elect emotions as tyrantsDictating the rest of our historyWhile I hold your hands gentlyWalking down the parliamentOf desire throbbing inside.Do you still believe in democracyOr are we doomed to fiasco?Listen to the waves inside my chestAs if...

Fritz and the Llama

Fritz and the llamaLive in the desert.Fritz waves Hi to a camel.The llama spits at it.“How rude!” says the camel.“She’s my sister,” says Fritz.Fritz and the llamaLive in the desert.Fritz drinks from an oasis.The llama spits at it.“How rude!” says the oasis.“She’s my...

Shadow in the Garden

(Thinking of my daughter on her first death anniversary) It is a recurring thoughtAs lightsCast a shadowOn a familiar bookIn my gardenOn a restlessEarly morning. What if she were alive todayIn the era of the unthinkable? Would she have goneTo the pollsWith me and her sonNow...

Touch me not

Why not, my Lord, after what you’ve done to me,Hurling my heart into the heaving waves off Magdala,Leaving me on the dark shores, empty and alone?And this morning, when there’s no need for today,You come to me again, resplendent in your white robe,A...

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