Choose Not the Firecat, after Stevens’ Earthy Anecdote, a poem by Stephen Fuller
I choose not the firecat, insteadA bobcat, though still it bristlesIn the way of clattering bucks.If being the bobcat, I mustStand with hair up on my…
As the Canadian Geese Fly Over in Formation
What does the man say when he wears a gold lamé ballcapAfraid to commit to the grilled cheeseStraddling the picnic bench, bellyDipping over the side of…
“Like white lace crumbled in night’s hand,” a poem by Stephen Fuller
Like white lace crumbled in night’s hand The snow fell to earth, a warehouse For memories each toile and cordonnet Wove between picots melting away into…
Poem for Sundance, after Fleetwod Mac, Crosby, Stills and Nash …
How do we capture the suite of life:Blue eyes, brown eyes, these eyesSee what the cake tastes, savorEach layer with me, what comes.So, yes, it’s hard.…
Veteran’s Path and an Even Keel, an essay about hope
“Between the stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and…
Beginning my Journey with Veteran’s Path, an essay
Over the last six months, nightmares have played an essential role in my phycological and emotional development. My subconscious mind has been actively punching through the…
We Gather
We gather. Together. Let our masksDown only to take a bite or imbibeA liquored dose of what we need.Our distance adequate for loveTo bloom over other…
The 4th of July as a Benchmark, a reflection
We celebrate the birth of the American Project today; we will watch fireworks, we will cook hot dogs, we will toast s’mores. Will we see this…
Dad, a poem for father and son
After listening to Father Son by Peter Gabriel For Dad, for Bobby, for me I am still trying. A fight still in my eyeThat glistens through…
The Ghost of Tom Burwell
After Jean Toomer’s “Blood-Burning Moon” Tom, come sit with me, ghost.Show me the rage born of loveA kindness that melts awayWith the kerosene artlesslyPainted at your…
