Things, To Ease Homesickness


When I was thirteen years old,
I spent ten weeks away from home at camp

I only started to get homesick
About the seventh or eighth week

I wrote letters home, I received letters back
But I missed my friends, my family, my things

That last one may sound strange
But the things we surround ourselves with
Are an important part of a home

I missed my bed
I missed my books
I missed my comic books

I mean, I was fourteen

One day, we had a field trip from camp
And we stopped at a store
I bought the comics pictured above and below
And I read them
Over and over

They reminded me of being home
They reminded me that I was still a boy

And like so many things that mean the world to us
I seriously doubt they ever meant much to anyone else


The Poetic Striving

Brand New

Like life
Grows and morphs
From generation to generation

We need
More than what
Our language can give

We stretch
The very limits
Of our word sense

Shaping and
Flaking our words
In Byzantine mind creations

Like night-moths
Seek the light
They will perish in

Through A Lover’s Eyes

Flowers on the Piano

I fell in love
With a woman who was:

Strong and smart
Canny and wise
Clever and able
To improvise

Loving and sweet
Funny and bright
Able to rest or to
Dance all night

She was and is all of these things, to be sure
You should believe, and not doubt me:

For she didn’t need me to make herself whole
She was amazing without me

Reader’s Digestive

Eating and Reading

About a hundred years ago
I read a quote by Cicero
That we have everything we need
With food to eat and books to read

I think that Roman man was right –
On a great truth he did alight –
For truly, how can life be beat
With books to read and food to eat?

Self-Justifying Lexicon

Looking It Up

I see so many “fighters”
Who’re really just sadistic,
I talk to some depressives
Who claim they’re “realistic”

I’ve met some “spiritual” people
Who are strangely possessive;
And I know many whiners
Who tell me they’re “progressive”

To want to choose how we are viewed
Is what this all betrays:
It’s strange the words we people use
To justify our ways

After the Accident


The hum of the machine I hear
I feel another presence near
Or maybe two, I cannot tell
I cannot seem to see

I wonder where I am, and how
I came to be where I am now –
I know that I don’t feel too well,
And something’s wrong with me

Who is that crying? She’s so sad.
I once heard my wife cry that bad –
This crying sounds like she did then
But I just do not know

It’s dark in here, I feel a breeze
I hear somebody’s labored wheeze
But I can’t rouse myself again
I think it’s time to go