The Martian

My sister invited me to an arts festival In her small town in Connecticut. We spent all morning dropping in To open-house studios of local artists. My sister is a potter. We had lunch at her studio. She said, I have to stay here But you should check out the Martian. The who? She laughed. …

Dropping the shield (followed by an autobiographical note on the writing of this poem)

A memory held in the back Of these aging eyes Is probably more than a memory More like footage of a lost film, The quintessence of A story never understood Until now. There is young so-and-so And another scamp and me In a sandpit Ecstatically undermining The great cuts Left by a backhoe Where the …

So, I guess we’re f–ked?! Yes. . .and No. (a narrative poem)

I’m working with a young man Doing dreamwork. During our check-in I was fretting About the ravages of climate change world-wide And he looked at me and said, My friends and I refer to it as “climate catastrophe”. My neighbor told me That he was on a walk with His “kids” recently When he overheard …

The flowers in the bowl (a Covid poem)followed by a reflection on the writing of this poem

The flowers are in the bowl Because they caught on the mower I felt bad for them And placed them in the bowl In a little water This world is going to hell He said I know listen read this Don’t go to hell I said Too late he said After I read what he …