diamonds within
July 6, 2017
i gaze into
encrusted skies
above
half moon
pond
diamonds
rippling in
the liquid.
how can
i know
beyond.
this sky feels
like home
the air
long ago
beckon
me on
and on.
The spiritual revolution may come too late
July 1, 2017
just as saying “I love you”
or “I’m sorry”
may come too late –
while slipping out of this life
on your back
mute and alone
surrounded by strangers.
dad wore hats
June 19, 2017
not when he should have
on a cold bright day
he would call out
where is your hat?
while the wind played
in his hair.
nor the way he should have
it was always
crunched atop his head
by a nephew or daughter
running around our backyard
at a picnic.
nor what he should have
into the dewy night
the adults would sing
heads touching in harmony
dad smoking a Chesterfield
wearing a bonnet.
until
November 11, 2014
until there are no soldiers
we have all died in vain
speaking with tongue
August 8, 2013
We rationalize:
it is a jungle out there.
We possess the language
to scaffold a lasting peace.
Yet we continue to speak
reptilian.
television lives
August 7, 2013
reality is a corporate
Skinner box.
we scurry like rats
through a maze of aisles…
Must See TV
leads the way…
Spycurity
July 15, 2013
No more
security,
just spycurity.
No more sleeping
in peace,
only sleeping
while watched.
2007
In Tribute to a Jersey City Boy
May 28, 2012
My father was born in 1920. His dad left one year later.
He was raised by his mother and his aunt. He was ten when the great depression hit his world. Dad eventually left school to find work. He joined the CCC, and later enlisted in the U.S. Army – a truck driver in the 262 Infantry.
His battle and campaign credentials include: Normandy, Ardennes (the Bulge), Northern France, and the Rhineland. He brought home some intense memorabilia. We seven kids destroyed it, as the war could not.
Dad did not talk about the war, except for the cases of wine diverted from the headquarters’s staff, or the time he chauffeured Omar Bradley. He said the captured Germans seemed just like them. Only they were on the losing side.
He died at sixty.
Each Memorial Day my parents had a picnic . It was an open house and lasted late into the night.
The following poem is about my father and makes reference to such an occasion:
Dad Wore Hats
Not when he should have.
On a cold bright day
he would call out
where is your hat?
while the wind played
in his hair.
Nor the way he should have.
It was always
crunched atop his head
by a nephew or daughter
running around our backyard
at a picnic.
Nor what he should have.
Into the dewy night
the adults would sing,
heads touching in harmony –
dad smoking a Chesterfield
wearing a bonnet.
Velcro – Unzipped
June 7, 2008
why a following
and not faith?
why signs
and no horizons?
why flesh
but no sight?
why not faith
and no following?
why not horizons
with no signs?
why not sight
but no flesh?
Work Dog
July 2, 2006
My dog would love
to work
like me.
I dream
of staying home
like him.
He gets too little
car time.
I get
too little
sleeping in.
He can go to work
for me.
As well
as I,
he can labor.
While I stay inside
our
cozy home
and bark at
every neighbor.
qazse 