I love that! Hello, Jim! We have not crossed paths since Twitter a few years back…I am glad to see you writing your wonderfully-voiced poetry! -Alan

Sir Barksalot

two sips of coffee
and I remember the song
my mother taught me at five
to find my way home

and new names I gave people’s pets, Adam not listening to Eve,
my smooth brain in love with words-

-now I forget them, and more,
my cup is lukewarm,
and I’ve missed my turn

Don’t Invite Bob To Meetings Anymore

“One thing we could do-
tell workers
to keep moving,
always up and down,
just like the characters in
old-time cartoons.

And lay off the staff in
Tuxedo, New York.”

We stared into cups,
the sun behind the clouds,
Mr Scrivener’s tapping pen
making all the sound.

An Accident by the School

In seconds
the ambulance was gone.

Twenty cars pulled to the shoulder
pulled out again,
each engine strong oxen
leaning into their harness.

We were not the wounded,
nor the one perhaps dead.
We still had a promise,
intent or a
purpose,
five hours left to
Saturday night.

An Accident by the School

In seconds
the ambulance was gone.

Twenty cars pulled to the shoulder
pulled out again,
each engine strong oxen
leaning into their harness.

We were not the wounded,
nor the one perhaps dead.
We still had a promise,
intent or a
purpose,
five hours left to
Saturday night.

Stationary Day

I would move there,
near the old apple tree that
no longer bears fruit and those roses
and bees with the honey-filled hive

but to lug heavy boxes
with my bad back and knees,
and to that house, hard swept and sweet,
I wouldn’t bring to it a single further ghost.

Stationary Day

I would move there,
near the old apple tree that
no longer bears fruit and those roses
and bees with the honey-filled hive

but to lug heavy boxes
with my bad back and knees,
and to that house, hard swept and sweet,
I wouldn’t bring to it a single further ghost.

Vitae Cognoscere

“He’d get, here and there,
a few hundred feet closer to the sun

one time in the Catskills
saw up on top
marine fossils in rocks

it rained across the brown mountain

he laughed and cried,
wasn’t all that much but some days he
was something”

is maybe how some will remember me.

My current guitar/music obsession is Swing Jazz, and tonight I learned a simple chord melody version of Thomas “Fats” Waller’s 1929 classic, “Honeysuckle Rose.” Swing is such joyous music and a blast to learn and play! These tunes and their composers cannot be forgotten.

My current guitar/music obsession is Swing Jazz, and tonight I learned a simple chord melody version of Thomas “Fats” Waller’s 1929 classic, “Honeysuckle Rose.” Swing is such joyous music and a blast to learn and play! These tunes and their composers cannot be forgotten.

This month, I’ve been doing a deep dive into George Benson’s brilliant guitar playing (if one only knows him from his 80’s/90’s pop music, go back and listen to play “Take 5”. These are some of GB’s licks and phrases, played at around half his speed.

Want to hear more self-indulgent noodling like this? If you remember that Bugs Bunny once thought he was Elmer Fudd, millionaire, who owned a mansion and a yacht, and if your back vaguely hurts all the time, this could be just your thing! Howl’n Davis, Sat night 8-12 at the Sussex Airport Pub, NJ.

The Previous Tenant’s Son

in pencil
had written on the sill,
that “Brian was here,”

forty years gone, Brian,
you still are “was,”
and what I was, I mostly still am,
with the window opened wider to let in more air
and the blinds opened higher to let in more light.

#poetry

The Previous Tenant’s Son

in pencil
had written on the sill,
that “Brian was here,”

forty years gone, Brian,
you still are “was,”
and what I was, I mostly still am,
with the window opened wider to let in more air
and the blinds opened higher to let in more light.

#poetry

You Mean I’m Not Failing The Class?

Tom stared at his score
and then he stared some more,
his head tilted like a dog’s
holding something not a bone,
crossed eyes like he was calculating a tip,
his tongue an anteater’s far out then inside,
obviously wrapped around
his fresh, large brain.

You Mean I’m Not Failing The Class?

Tom stared at his score
and then he stared some more,
his head tilted like a dog’s
holding something not a bone,
crossed eyes like he was calculating a tip,
his tongue an anteater’s far out then inside,
obviously wrapped around
his fresh, large brain.

Rails

6:45,
December,
no one president,
nor dancing ballet,
none saddling horses
to drive cattle across plains,

just a group of us tired,
pains and aches braved
with coffee and a pill,

thoughts on work
or doing it again,
a million birthday candles
waiting seated for the train.

Rails

6:45,
December,
no one president,
nor dancing ballet,
none saddling horses
to drive cattle across plains,

just a group of us tired,
pains and aches braved
with coffee and a pill,

thoughts on work
or doing it again,
a million birthday candles
waiting seated for the train.

Rails

6:45,
December,
no one president,
nor dancing ballet,
none saddling horses
to drive cattle across plains,

just a group of us tired,
pains and aches braved
with coffee and a pill,

thoughts on work
or doing it again,
a million birthday candles
waiting seated for the train.

To That 70’s Kid Starving In Africa

Why wake this way.

The pillow was fine,
why awaken to a piece of dream,
a memory of not coming down from a slide,
a small battle of wills,
a time I made my Mom count
to five,
then slid into her arms, victory mine.

I never did tell her how often she was right.

Like A Leaf

I thought
what could in a minute
first, a rush, leaving words on the Oregon trail

for thirty seconds I
looked at rocks
wondered which sky would
come after those clouds

well, this is where I get off I can’t speak for you

I love rhyming poetry but also like the idea of not always having g to serve a rhyme, how that can limit the diction. I sprinkle rhymes in some of my poems, not typically end rhymes, and when I teach Creative Writing, one assignment does not allow rhyming, a little challenge for the students.

Like A Leaf

I thought
what could in a minute
first, a rush, leaving words on the Oregon trail

for thirty seconds I
looked at rocks
wondered which sky would
come after those clouds

well, this is where I get off I can’t speak for you

Greenview Park

The elderly couple
held hands in the park,
not a moment of light slipped through.

His knuckles rough and scarred,
a bandage on her thumb,
her head on his shoulder,
he hummed and she nodded in rhythm.

We had to part to let them through,
a low, blue moon come between us.

Patter

My dad said,
“In ‘71,
I made a big sale,
a young blonde buyin’
a stairway to heaven.”

He coughed, paused and enjoyed
one last smoke before he died

I know he lied about that
and how God cried but we call it rain
I’m think while the phone is ringing,
my steak sizzling in the cast-iron pan.

Patter

My dad said,
“In ‘71,
I made a big sale,
a young blonde buyin’
a stairway to heaven.”

He coughed, paused and enjoyed
one last smoke before he died

I know he lied about that
and how God cried but we call it rain
I’m think while the phone is ringing,
my steak sizzling in the cast-iron pan.

After hours in the sun,
I take off my shirt and show what I’ve done,
how red burnt I’ve become,
so sharp against the white

but if I’d stayed inside
I’d have missed the circling terns,
a walk along the wrack line,
for three unbroken shells,
my sore spine bent a thousand times.

After hours in the sun,
I take off my shirt and show what I’ve done,
how red burnt I’ve become,
so sharp against the white

but if I’d stayed inside
I’d have missed the circling terns,
a walk along the wrack line,
for three unbroken shells,
my sore spine bent a thousand times.

A snippet of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”.

Time to learn a new Christmas tune!