“there, but for the grace of god, go I”
<that was thought to generate gratitude.>

but the true grace, is:
there go i.

just like me.

there is no ‘other’


Only then did I weep

she’s on that ship
me, on shore.
Sailing to a new life
opportunity, potentiality
she’s got the Bull
by the horns
flutes, violins.
Sing that new song bright, strong!
I watch till the ship gets small
and it’s lamp winks out acrossing horizon


Painful pavement

i know this road
i know it well
it leads to my lonely room
in heartbreak hotel

i’ll put my blinders on
pretend i’ve learned, grown
i’ll still make that damn left turn
right where i ought to keep on straight

paved with ignore-ance

next week i’ll start pushing her away
while i implore her to stay
about a month after that she’ll leave
in my lonely room i’ll grieve

i know that road
i know it well


Muck at dusk

This wet yucky muck is only nice
For hogs and ducks
I tromp along triumphantly
In my wellies dry impunity
While your wet sneaker sloshes.
Though I admire your pluck
More than your converse chucks
Umbrella are unwieldy
I’ll keep my Mac and galoshes

20181008 dVerse Poets Pub

Before getting lost in the sea

   The shy person, avoiding praise.  Willing to work, and shine, within the crowd.  Whose thriving skill and focus falters and dissipates in the spotlight.  Embarrassed stars hiding behind cloud-curtains.
   The raindrop, having let go of the ocean and fallen to the sky, hitched to clouds like a ship to it’s sails, ranging across continents.  Finally letting go of even that, splattering across the earth, a rock, building, tree or a car, slamming into then dripping off, sinking into the ground or running along, gathering into streams then rivers, and at last discharged, diffused, dispersed into the sea.

Clinging desperately to the rocks and pebbles of my past
Alluvial manifestations of my inner demons, self-doubting sand
Make up the beach, my last gift to the land