Thank you

I have been a recluse througout this marathon. I promise that I will read at least one of your poems and comment on it/them.
But first, restorative sleep.
Take care of yourself.
You did it!

Crossing the Finish Line

Is hope more of a wish or a prayer?
Does it have to do with string?
Is it a goal or objective or song?
Or just some everyday thing?

Does hope spring eternal as the poem says
or perhaps the poems are just mush
I’d like to spend some time thinking of Hope
But I fear I’m in quite a rush.

You see, this is the poem at the end of the line
the line is the day oh, so long
I wish you well and hope many things
None to be construed as wrong

The marathon took twenty-four hours this time
It does every year, yes, that is true
Your successful completion is what you achieved
At least that is my hope for you.

Not This One

Age, specifically mine, has begun to define me.
I think of “The Twilight Zone” imagining a world
But not this one.

I think of a world without humans.
After all, we’ve already had our shot.
A world free of abuse, corruption and assholes.

Well, only literal assholes will be allowed.
Actually, if you make exceptions for wasps and feces-throwing primates, all assholes will be welcomed!
Maybe my imagined world will have time for sleep,
Because, you know, not this one.

Not at my age.
Not this one.

Pizza Stop

I sit in my car
at the intersection of Mitchell and Pine
Smells of pizza fill the air.
Seriously, WTF?

On one side of the street
pizza by the slice.
A buck a slice.
I’m so serious I want to swear right now.
When school is in session, they sell about
four thousand a day.
Every day.
In a town of maybe ten thousand.

On the other side of the street
whole pies
So good!
thin crust
pepperoni grease running down your arm
as you devour every bite.
This place is the place
the place that built this town.
It is so <> awesome.

The light turned green
But I go nowhere
The car behind me doesn’t honk.
Why would it?
They can smell it too.

Jackson Brown Would Be Proud

Running on empty
Pre-dawn hollowness
A shell of my usual self
My words brittle, stilted, halting
My emotions devoid of feeling
Free-floating angst and anger
So great, yet so nebulous.

I have no core.
My thoughts echo in the vastness
as they ricochet between scales from high and the abyss
Vacillating on the periphery
Of sleep deprived cravings
For friendship,

I miss my friends
and Some Poets.
It’s hard to remember a time
When I have felt as sorry for myself
As I do now.

Breath fills the cavity within me
Slowly released into the vacuum that connects us all.
It is enough for now,
for me
to keep running.


I sit down to write,
but cry instead.

I let Roy out in the backyard
Before breakfast
and his early morning walk

He bites me
and I say he’s only a puppy.

Almost always,
I sleep deeply
and wake refreshed.

Once in a while,
I like to stir things up
and take my glasses off.

As long as there are no caveats,
I expect thesw things to happen.

Where Am I?

This should be good
or maybe it won’t
It seems fitting to be inarticulate
yet truthful
at 3:00 in the morning.

At this time of night
So early in the morning
I think it was a good choice
to pass on the Cheetos
My keyboard would be orange
If I chose differently.

I’m in the hub of my house
aloft in my chair
The dead dear watches over my shoulder
As I write
It’s as if we had come to a mutual understanding
Facing the deer is unnerving
After all, I didn’t kill it.

Rather, my gaze falls on a eucalyptus bunch
Abstractedly reminiscent of the Eiffel Tower.
Also the Last Supper, an angel, a woman reading and two Aftican children on their knees
I almost forgot Sweet Baby James who will be a brother in no time at all
The rest blends into daily vision of ordinary life
After I sleep, I need to dust.
All in all, a wonderful room to poet within.

My Sister Sandy

Sounds of laughter
come out through my voice.
They are not always my own.
My silvery hair seems
to hang in such a way
That our resemblance is uncanny.
I’ve felt her presence
Since she’s been gone.
I’ve seen it my entire life.
Others notice more than I
Her daughter wills tears to dry
before I can see or hear them
My niece studies my face before reaching out
to stroke my cheek.
I hold my niece close
sharing our grief
even as I add to hers.


Summer colors mixed with winter lights
swirling apexmesmerizing vortex of mirrors
held to the child’s eye
as he slowly turns it
so the colors fold themselves
in on unending varieties of patterns
of wonderment.

For Beginners

Shuffle ball
Shuffle ball
Ball change

Heel step
Step heel
Heel step
Three point turn

Single buffalo

With the beat
Ready? Go!

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