July 22, 2017




“Outside… I’m masquerading,

Inside…My hope is fading..”

-Smokey Robinson, from  ” Tracks Of My Tears”


I’ve seen  winters and  springs

Since I’ve seen a winning hand

But I’m at a loss to say

About losing.

It’s not farfetched to say

I’ve not too far to fall

But it’s best & for the best

For rain and tears to fall

I’m meant not to miss all this all



I encounter seeing faces I have seen, Countenances

I believe  I know,   abit a blur

I can see the many apparences

Surely, all the one, to me  all lure.


From somewhere  a ways

So familiar in a dream that

Sentences formed for her

presences   are pointless,

When a smile from an eye

is enough.   Not enough.



A close look!  Too late.  Those closing elevators.

One shine on a glass, as she passes.

A wave or a nod wayover another streetside.

A bolt  from our sure bond  that burns

From another car just as it turns.

We’re silent together and calm

Fifty arms apart in a crowd

In a loud throng.

I’ll see you for a sliver

In all this  time & space, long

In all this  space & time, a pace or two somehow wrong.



February 23, 2017



It’s a damned near full moon

It’s clear,  a bracing

evening.  I’ll exhale out

to trace the treeline  off

to a nothing northern florida town.

She sat at a flea market

where tons of townies in camouflage jackets

pressed past her at her table and chair.

Her pronounced pretty eyes

were the ideal quirk for gypsy fortune tell work.

Green, like beach glass.

How might they see me?

How can she be expected to espouse

All Ahead  for me   there?

At that table & chair there, exposed

to that flea market crowd?

Men, off to gun tables.

Women, drawn up the way

where puppies are given away

(hunting dogs no doubt)

How Soul-intimate can my gypsy and I get?

Can she pull out

All that’s in

In all of this dumbed down din?

It’s delicate business…

There’s this inarticulate air here

Against which…without a hitch..

.I want to wonder over every word..

I want to wonder for every prophetic word.

How can we do this with clothes on?  Absurd.


I can see, by the chance

of this damned near full moon,

I’ll watch the line of my breath dance

just off the distant treeline,

Off to tomorrow’s full sun soon.





(at least a half dozen years back)


August 16, 2016


If You’ll find  it’s kinda fate  you kinda understand.

You’ll knock the gun out of the goombah’s hand.

It’s sent to the pavement

Between you   and all the rest.

When you wrestle it from circumstance

Then Do you got the go to go the distance?



It’s time again to utter

It’s just possible

I should be able

Not should,  but would

Be  able

To surrender  some.

Surely  if I needed to

I would be able

To  plea;

To tip my big head

Down so that my POV could  no would

Pan down to the gravel

I would be able to fall to

&  plea.

As shooting stars

May or may not show


&   please  me.





.                                                  (from 2009)


HARD 2 (Then’l Be)

February 8, 2016

While my hand is hard  on the banister,

Wave  yours  up.

I can make for a better grip

Before I take you up

I swear then’l be my answer

Today, like an odd day way back when,

When it got way out of hand

When Kings and Queens would pretend

And everyone around them would play along.

Today, It  could  deliberately happen.

A scenario would act out  just so.

I’d start it,  & let it go.

I’d make it go, and all characters

circling like satellites

would play along too.

Then, It got way into hand.





.                                                    (2009)

It’s  as  if

A faster plan

To implement

Into place…

Could only prove

Kind of cruel.


As, Exact


Details don’t fail to play out

More or less  Exact

To all the timetable.


If I’d take the deal

& took the step up  to take the hook,

& hang on to the thing,

Swang around wild corners,

On way to the fire

I wouldn’t fight.

If I would  ignite this one,

Shifting  Love’s  Attention.

As secret pals,


Assuaging  all  coming,

We just won’t resist succumbing

All over  to this trance

Of our certain circumstance.




I might I might just sometime

See the chance

&  right  rock

To smash that lock.

-Wislawa Szymborska  (7/2/1923-2/1/2012) RIP
                                                   Nobel Prize for Literature 1996

.Both are convinced

that a sudden surge of emotion bound

them together.

Beautiful is such a certainty,

but uncertainty is more beautiful.

Because they didn’t know each other

earlier, they suppose that

nothing was happening between them.

What of the streets, stairways and


where they could have passed each other

long ago?

I’d like to ask them

whether they remember– perhaps in a

revolving door

ever being face to face?

an “excuse me” in a crowd

or a voice “wrong number” in the receiver.

But I know their answer:

no, they don’t remember.

They’d be greatly astonished

to learn that for a long time

chance had been playing with them.

Not yet wholly ready

to transform into fate for them

it approached them, then backed off,

stood in their way

and, suppressing a giggle,

jumped to the side.


There were signs, signals:
but what of it if they were illegible.
 Perhaps three years ago,
 or last Tuesday
 did a certain leaflet fly
 from shoulder to shoulder?
There was something lost and picked up.
 Who knows but what it was a ball
 in the bushes of childhood.
There were doorknobs and bells
 on which earlier
 touch piled on touch.
 Bags beside each other in the luggage room.
 Perhaps they had the same dream on a certain night,
 suddenly erased after waking.
Every beginning
 is but a continuation,
 and the book of events
is never more than half open.
.(this poem inspired a brilliant cinematic ruby,

Kieslowski’s “RED” )