Waiting Room

I’m sitting in a waiting room
And choose to write this verse;
The snow is blowing hard outside
The wind keeps getting worse —

Winter once was magical
With castles made of snow;
But now the world is blank, and I
Can’t see which way to go —

The wait is over, and my child
Is here, so we depart;
We speak of senseless nothings as
We head into the heart

Of this relentless blizzard
Where we’re greeted by a blast:
Just two more people cold and lost
In problems
Way too


(“Waiting Room” – 1-26-2015)

A Short History of Them

All they had.

She was his favorite
Habit, maybe —
Hard to say

He was her surrogate
Plush toy, really —
Just for play

They thought they’d arrogate
Pleasures of the
Flesh and heart –

Left off, wondering
Why they both felt
So apart


So he loves her, but she does not love him…

So he loves her, but she does not love him;
A story countless through the ages told.
A type of madness now his mind infects,
Each day he tries to shake its baneful hold –

But wonders, what technique or set of words,
Or clothes, or gifts, might cause her heart to fill?
Then curses his obsession, for he knows:
She doesn’t love him, and
She never will

Torn Down

They’ve torn down a neighborhood swimming pool
In an older part of town,
There’s nothing left but s pile of dirt
With a few stray trucks around

And I think about kids, and the summertime,
And what all must go for cost —
But what is a thing that we never have
But another thing

We’ve lost

(Photo by me.)

7 Threnodies – 7

it’s such an ugly (cancer) word
i take you tuesday once again
a surgery another test
this can’t be real, this can’t be real
i’m dreaming aren’t i? aren’t you?
a nightmare vision somehow shared
this can’t be real. it isn’t real —
and you’ll be fine i think
i hope i pray —

such common things:
uncertainty and grief,
that weigh uncommon and way



the shades are drawing, sight is leaving me:
i’m told it’s just the way it has to be.
a day must run its course, from east to west,
and light is just a thing we lease, at best.

through eyes, a thousand touches we receive;
some pure and true, while others may deceive,
still more may make us think, perhaps, a spell,
while some sweet few will kiss our hearts as well.

acceptance sounds so wise, so right, so fine,
but seems a crime on this side of the line —
for natural things we deal with as we must.
it’s cruel man, not nature, who’s unjust.

  but even cold enclosed within the dark,
  i’ll think of you, and still discern a spark