Poem, snippets and essays of my life
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Tag: nostalgia
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My House
Flash 2 My House I live alone people think but in fact my house has so many inhabitants I have to be careful when moving through it. There are many men lurking about in my closets and bedroom all of whom seem angry and hungry. The kitchen contains some young ones with […]
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Shades of Gray
Shades of Gray When you’re a child you think everyone tells the truth. You think your mother and father will be together forever. When you see your first divorce it’s kind of like seeing your first accident. You can’t believe this could happen Sometimes people stay together because they can’t stand to be alone. […]
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Loss
Loss In the gray half open eye period prior to full alert status I feel a touch or maybe an outstretched limb, a phantom connection I may remember. Warm and wanting.. Delaying the awakening I dwell there In hopeful desire among my fresh sheets, memories of sun fragrant and salt drying, my fingers on your […]
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The Best Memory
The Best Memory The best Fall I remember happened outside of Paris due north near Chambord in November maybe October’s when the Beaujolais Nouveau was released along with me…I walked out the door of the inn we stayed in while you drank with our host. I wandered following troughs of wet leaves […]
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In Reality
For the longest time I thought I might become someone else. I could be Norwegian and learn the language well so people would say how no one could tell I wasn’t a native. My hair would miraculously turn blond. It would be ok to like sex. I like the sounds of their desserts. Or I […]
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Person of Interest
“I bought a trailer because I joined a gang. My feet itched and my rain was shutting down so I became a nomad something I’ve always wanted to be. Some language has a word for it: people who don’t feel like they belong anywhere. That’s me. I’m pretty old so I was worried about camping […]
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A great review for The…
www.columbiatribune.com/entertainment/20201002/poet-sifts-strange-difficult-memories-in-search-for-clarity
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My Mother’s Hair
My Mother’s Hair My mother’s hair always escaped from under her red kerchief or the hairspray lacquered on for control and the hair often went dancing in a night club in Manhattan even when she was in labor with one of us. You can’t control wildness. My mother lay, legs askew, baby coming, never having […]
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