I knew I couldn’t do it. But I tried. I tried my damnedest too. April was considered to be National Poetry Writing Month with the goal of writing one poem per day. I couldn’t do this. During this past month … Continue reading
My old license plate read: POET. Driving around was always a pleasure–everyone would speak with me at traffic lights and say they were supposedly a poet, too; or, could I recite a poem to them (as if I always had … Continue reading
You came unwarranted. You were the Manhattan Yeti– large and hairy; ape-like with dark reddish hair, emerging from Ground Zero then hiding behind the internet and indie films and poorly written literature; beside Sarah Jessica and Meryl, with your thick tongue and … Continue reading
So much depends upon The red wheel barrel Filled with banned books, Soon to be burned, Pushed by a castrated Rhineland Bastard Carrying harps along his sides, Playing slightly flat with tubercular coughs, Marching to Pachelbel Canon in D. God … Continue reading
I opened myself up to ridicule
when I revealed my comfortless heart.
Now I’m just your April Fool. . . Continue reading
I have faith that when my dark moments arise (as they always do when least expected) like an unwanted forest fire, destroying everything in my view, and I begin to choke on life, my thoughts can turn to my beacons of hope, the writers before me who found their way out of self-destruction and slay the psychological demons one more time. Continue reading