Category: Poetry

Beowulf’s Last stand and Valhalla Did Sing

  For fifty winters, king Beowulf did reign With sage-like wisdom no one could contest, He was a lion with silvery mane, With heroic heart beating in his chest. Lo, piercing his peace, a dragon did roar! To challenge Beowulf for one last great fray And without a blink, just as in folklore He yelled, “Foul beast, your bowels I shall splay!” Beowulf raged … Read More Beowulf’s Last stand and Valhalla Did Sing


            i My first real green recollection of Spring was toddling across fresh-cut grass, a bee was buzzing round bright yellow peonies, wavering in a breeze in the may sun. ii I’m a young boy, fishing with father, middle May, on muddy-brown river bank, gray-blue catfish are thrashing, mouths agape, silvery dragonflies dart amongst cattails, gleaming rust-colored worms squirm … Read More Transitions

In Our Golden Years

              In our golden years we shall sing aloud, spiting aches and pains we will have no fears, we will carry on crying happy tears; in our own world we will float on a cloud. In our golden years we will show them all, we will showcase romance on new frontiers, crooning away like two old balladeers; though … Read More In Our Golden Years


After February’s scowl and before April’s beckoning, tight in my own skin and salivating, I snatch bits and pieces of winter’s curse to iron over and repackage a cinema most bizarre, a telling of secrets I bow to muse and what else haunts and howls at my id, from dark wings or, is it indigestion? Bones creak, my lips are cracked from mutterings, oh … Read More Pontification

The Iceberg Theory

We are all the results of sweat moans and carnal canticles whispered or screamed we are carried with anguish and measured sighs, as miracles stitched together in amniotic silence then comes reckoning of reality the ripping apart of solitude and we are pulled into the fray full-on we march as if chided by impatient fate a brash cigar smoking drill Sargent screaming obscenities, “move … Read More The Iceberg Theory

In Fields of Glory I Have Fought

I have spilled blood of Philistines, Laid waste their camps to smithereens, God’s divine fury I have brought! In fields of glory I have fought. For King and country I have clashed, With war hammer, heads I have smashed! I well recall the, Celtic knot, In fields of glory I have fought. As Templar, I have righted wrongs, With brothers, sang loud conquest songs! … Read More In Fields of Glory I Have Fought

Snorting and Grunting

Sniffing my armpits like a Bohemian I may have mystery stains on my bathrobe that hasn’t been washed in a month for sure, there are traces of tawny port and black coffee certainly without a care, sometimes I put-on my cleanest sullied shirt after carefully sniffing of course dirty dishes stack up, crusty, as high as the laundry, pretty much neck and neck what … Read More Snorting and Grunting

Beseech the Muse to Let Ink Flow!

In tarnished dream many do bide, On crackled ground their spirit’s dried, With mind they struggle in a row, Beseech the muse to let ink flow! In dithered state their minds are fraught, Try as they will it’s all for naught For souls are retching in a throe, Beseech the muse to let ink flow! In dark closet knelt on your knees, The bards … Read More Beseech the Muse to Let Ink Flow!

In Veneration

Mother, was the real deal a boiled-down with dross removed saint, who always smelled of Pine Sol and food fried she often sighed she liked crooning Doris Day songs with clack and clatter of dishes; she was a diva to us, she was an angel without wings, someone who soothed our scrapes and occasional bruises we didn’t know how to ease hers, but I … Read More In Veneration

Oh, Great Healer of Hearts, Please Guide My Pen

A soulful tickling of piano keys resounds in my mind as I meditate, Monet waves his brush at bothersome bees as the words appear and do animate. And a starry night is where I oft land as visions of, Poe and Shelly drift-by, for Elysian Fields is where I do stand, mesmerized again by a brush-swirled sky. I also have stood on vast surreal … Read More Oh, Great Healer of Hearts, Please Guide My Pen

Nuestra luna: Our Moon

Our moon is rising, my love the loons on the lake are crying but I shall not, no because you asked me, begging with tears to simply smile to live you loved my smile but I am halved and tarnished as a peach left in sun, shriveled with pit of my heart bared our moon is high with, cricket symphony the loons are entwined, … Read More Nuestra luna: Our Moon

Zarathustra Choked and Rolled in His Grave

The heavens flashed and the earth it did shake as winged beneficent beings appeared, their countenance shown brighter than the sun as they blew trumpets announcing The Lord.“Oh, people of earth your judgment is nigh! For the time of reckoning has arrived, your recompense will be justly given and His faithful pure of heart He will take!” As cinders ascending from a great fire, … Read More Zarathustra Choked and Rolled in His Grave