Jul 31 2006
The names, faces and details have been blurred to protect the not-so-innocent.
I was a lilac
thief in Lincoln,
the church grounds
dark, deserted
just me
and God
and two noisy dogs
who obviously cried
wolf too often
for no…
Jun 30 2006
Winter always seems to be the season for deep reflection, and pondering the past seasons.
I mark the passing seasons by the shifting of the sun
Gone are the luminous red fireball evenings of summer
Replaced by the naked clarity…
Apr 30 2006
In a few short weeks between Thanksgiving and New Year's 2004, we bid a fond farewell to my 101-year old grandmother Madeleine and prepared to welcome my first nephew into the world. I have struggled these past several years with…
Mar 31 2006
I am finally learning to reward myself for being a writer,
or a cistern
collecting gravity-bound drops of words together
saving them for a bright moment,
or a dark truth,
or simply an apt place for their release
I have…
Feb 28 2006
The Great Smoky Mountains are far and away America's favorite national park and a glittering jewel of biodiversity. As with Shenandoah, my own "backyard" national park, winter is often the best time of year to visit. I particularly like it…
Jan 31 2006
Panama, August 2004
Senor Pablo dances
with his broom by the sea
casting off the remnants
of the weekend guests
at Sister Moon
Always new,
occasionally familiar
their stories and laughter
briefly carom off
the wood and stucco,
fueled by…
Dec 31 2005
Might there be more to our menu choices than meets the eye?
My sister and I eat pizza
the way our mother taught us
with reverence and gusto
Faux Italians
eating Greek pizza
in Sicilian style
Life has its occupational…
Nov 30 2005
For the month of the Blue Moon, a little summer romance and reminiscence perhaps amidst the statuesque floodplain sycamores, following a moonlight ferry ride across the Potomac
The Jubal Early,
Slowly, steadily, restlessly
Making its way back and forth across…
Oct 31 2005
How dare I be so presumptuous
to suppose that my words have meaning to others?
That these scraps of thought
and ink
and wrinkled paper,
Are anything more
than the poorly digested
pile of berries
Left behind by the bear,
…