Beside the Frozen Lake

He walked beside the frozen lake
Remembering when she was here,
The days of love and happiness
That gave way to the night of fear,

And loneliness, and jealousy,
With all their ruination —
And yet, it’s like she’s back again
Just seeing this


Folded In December

Along a path within the snow
He makes his nervous way;
He has a little way to go,
So thinks of what he’ll say —

There is a hope he knows is small,
A chance to really feel —
But folded in December, he
Cannot see what is real.

He walks up to her shining door,
And rings the welcome chime,
She and another man are there,
As they are, most the time —

He looks at them and mumbles
Something barely understood
They take as “Merry Christmas –
I was in the neighborhood –”

They ask him in, but he says no,
And back out in the white
He leaves his rose out on bench
Where it can spend the night

It is one more rejection,
To have no one as his own —
‘Cause folded in December means
Just one more month



they stood beside the frozen lake;
bare winter was at hand —
he’d always felt her reticence,
but didn’t understand

she looked at him with so much love,
then drew herself a breath,
and though a tear was in her eye,
she looked a bit like death —

but she was honest to the core,
and would not there mislead him;
she had to tell her simple truth,
however it might grieve him —

i’m grateful for the kindness, but
i’ll brook no synonym —
there cannot be a substitute:
for you cannot

be him

The High, High Palace of Kerapos

IN the high, high palace of Kerapos
Sat a brooding king, and his lovely queen,
In the days of Sharitan dynasty,
By a village, lake, and stream —

He pondered and said, “Is it worth it all
To rule but never be free to go
When a warrior’s spirit longs to roam
Where the broad, broad rivers flow?”

Said she, “But you are free to go, good sir,
With your scabbard and sword, and your diamond shield,
To see the good world that you long to see
Past river, hill, and field …

Just know: you’ve a kingdom that needs you, too,
With a wife, also, and a child or two,
And adventures enough, if you look around:
I daresay many are there to be found.”

In the high, high palace of Kerapos,
Sat a king who thought, but with much less thirst,
In the days of the Sharitan dynasty
With a queen who thought better, and thought it


Toy Village

He built himself a world of toys,
Each new piece full of passion,
And added to it, year on year,
In spite of changing fashion.

I watched in wonder as a boy,
And marveled at the scale,
Imagining myself down there,
Within that lavish detail —

But all around, his family sank.
His sons and daughters wandered
To find a single hour of joy
Like those their dad had squandered.

But as a man, I wonder now,
If he their lives had wrecked,
Or if he searched for solace, and
I’d mixed cause with effect.

For all I know’s that I don’t know.
We never can be sure
About the macro lessons in
A world of



“No one remembers the former generations, and even those yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow them.”

Part 1

Cruel laughter rings
Around a five-year-old boy

Look at the little baby!
He carries a teddy bear!

And tears appear in the eyes
Of the young, confused boy

And the toy bear

Part 2

She was a lithesome seventeeen
Wanting to leave girlhood behind;
He was so handsome, quiet, forceful
He filled her soul, her heart, her mind

Giving herself to adult pleasure
Finding too late the price of lust;
Violence breaking out in ruin
Having a baby, broken trust

Young single mom setting up a nursery
Worn teddy bear for the baby’s bed;
The only gift that his father left him
So many things must stay

Part 3

His mother died when he was only six
He had no father that he’d ever known
He set off with his grandmother to live
Some other place, with everything unknown

His only friend, a tattered sewn-up toy
The house smelled funny, all his tears were spent;
He hugged his only friend up to face
Just trying to recall
His mother’s scent


Took The Truth

One summer day,
She walked into his study
And told him she didn’t love him anymore.
That it wasn’t his fault,
And there wasn’t anyone else,
But that she needed something more
Than he could give.

That weekend,
A moving van pulled up,
And within four hours
She and every sign of her
Was gone.

He sat in his almost empty living room,
Wondering what to do next.
Only, there didn’t seem to be a ‘next’.
Plenty of ‘lasts‘, though.

He didn’t tell the people at work.
He didn’t tell his sister.
He just kept living:
Going to work, and
Evading questions, like
“What’s Janice wearing to the party?”

Probably nothing, he mused.
But who knows.
What he said was
“We won’t be able to come this year.”

Why did he hide the truth?
You might ask

Same reasons we all do.

Sometimes people leave us,
And it feels like they took the truth
With them.