A Boy

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A Boy

Today, so much
of his laughter

upon the snow
that frills
the spine

of an old birch
leaning over
that crooked fence

into the backyard,
a dinosaur
dipping its snout

to sniff the house
and ask the boy
to play.


But I Can See Him

This piece simply celebrates the importance I place on one’s imagination. I truly believe it is the stuff of life.

Image result for monster under apple tree

But I Can See Him

The shade that seeps
from the apple tree’s limbs,
slicks the ground

about the fallen fruit,
clustered as forgotten toys,

is enough to hide, from blind eyes,
the ogre napping
in that nook of calm,

his sullied teeth
flecked with rot,

a pimpled chin
whiskered with hair
as thick as apple stems.

In the Village

I’m back. Usually, I post every day, but for various reasons, I’ve been able to post  as often as I am accustomed to, but, as I said, I’m back. Miss me?

I’m really not sure what I’m going to write about today. I’ll let my imagination run a bit.

Here we go!!

Image result for dungeons and dragons troll
In the Village

The trolls have begun to bungle
from beneath their bridges,
slip those shadows
where the stones are iced
with slick and chill.
They’ve uprooted trees,

licking roots as a child
savors a lolli,
and, rumor suggests,
sampled sheep,
puffy and white,
grazing where the grasses grow,

as easily as you and I
scarf a fist full
of popped corn.
The village ire is peaked.
Soon, torches will burn.
Brandished pitchforks

will prepare to poke
the beasts back,
beneath their bridges,
to snore and snot,
behaviors tolerable, expected –
they’re only trolls, you know.


Yesterday, I wrote about a cat and the sun. This piece spawns directly from those words. Now, I must fly. I’m off to church.

Image result for d and d dragonborn


I saw a cat
lap sunlight
from a puddle
pooled beside
a napping stone.

I heard a sparrow
admonish a squirrel,
as a parent might
scold a selfish child,
for tipping the feeder,
filching a lion’s share
of seed.

I’ll brandish wit
with a dragon.
A sage,
I’ll wield riddle
upon riddle,
sharpening my sagacity
against a whetstone
of fancy,
thwarting fire
with wisdom,
something about a feather,
some ink,
and an old poem.