A Fall from Innocence

Image result for wiffle ball bat still life

A Fall from Innocence

A small boy
a whiffle ball bat

against his shadow,
a dark foe,

a broad sword,
an otherworld phantom,
deeper, somber

even as the sun
finds its tallest perch.


Pipe Smokin’

This piece is inspired by a painting I discovered on Facebook,  a scene representing a slice of JRR Tolkien’s Middle Earth. And yes, I do have a pipe. Perhaps I’ll puff a bit of peace today.

Pipe Smokin’

Tis’ best, my lad, to find a soft splay
of earth where, in a day’s time,
both shade and sun discover time to unfurl.
Perhaps beneath an old tree
that understands the values of sittin’,
of swallowin’ all the silence the air dare offer,
Once settled in a spot, puff up a sweet tobacco,
somethin’ nutty, with a taste of honey and berry,
and set that perfume swirlin’ up that tree
like a garland of white flowers,
so tasty, like cookies bakin, the tree
might stoop down askin’ to filch
a puff or two – on your pipe and peace.


I’m hungry.  This is simply a piece that describes what I’d like to eat right now. Can one write a poem simply about food? Well, I tried. Does it work?

Image result for homemade bread still life


Honey softens
the warm bread

on the painted plate,

and a green vine

twisting through
the scattered crumbs,

the sticky splotches
of gold.


I’ve been toiling, turning dirt, spreading mulch. It’s spring and my yard is slowly shaping up. It’s work I covet. Here and there, I spied a grub or two. And, well, ya know… I’m always thinking.

Image result for lawn grubs


That fatty worm,
curled in its earth
where the shadows seep
between the green shoots,
where the dandelions tower
and the ants parade
over the gray stone,
content to claim
only the cool mire
that cocoons its flesh,
that peace, that home.


After last night’s storm, strobe-like lightning, howling winds, and rain, the azalea’s on my property are golden. It’s beautiful.


With a small spoon,
a child dollops
beads of honey

in the well of each bloom
for the fairies to siphon
before the afternoon heat

bids each sprite to fold
its wings and nap
under the mushroom tops

where the shadows
cool earth and air.