I am taking a break from the novel I started because I don’t have the time to do the historical background research that is definitely needed to flush it all out. With the dissertation and all the summer teaching I need to write something that is purely a creature of my mind. Luckily, I have an idea for that. So with any luck the first chapter of this new novel will be up soon. In the mean time, here are a few poems. I like to write poems in a quick and dirty manner. With all of my scholarly work I have to write and rewrite and poetry for me is a burst of thought that I prefer not to touch up, even though it would probably make them better. Anyway here you go.

The Bickering Blacks and Whites

The leaves had begun to fall

The crisp had come

But was not present on this day

A rebirth of summer

If only for a moment.

I drank bottled beer

On the front stoop

Watching the bickering

Blacks and whites,

At least they all bickered together.

I saw you two blocks away

Without acknowledgment.

When you walked past me

In the door

The same.

You came out

Sat in your chair

Next to mine

Twisted the top off your bottled beer

And began watching the bickering

Blacks and whites.

At least they all bicker together

You said.


Three Drops

I forged three drops of water in my hands

Then allowed them to drop to the Earth

The land succumbed to the water

Waves overran the prairies

Washing themselves over the mountaintops

The fish and water mammals went on,

Business as usual,

The coyotes and foxes grew wings and webbed feet

The bears,

Blow holes,



The humans swam with all their might

The bravery they speak of was in full display

‘Twas a glorious sight for all to see!’

Many perished in the swim

But a few,

A few reached the last bastion of land

A mountain they have named


The survivors embraced

Speaking highly of the human spirit

And began making plans

For the extraction of the water

And the return of the land

A Life in Parts

She led her face away from a cringe

For a moment

Clapsing collapsing her hand around my forefinger

I dared in closing

With no thoughts of risk

Lids which had no business not thinking on their own

And she left

Softly (I did not hear)

With her sparkling blues

No longer reflecting

Lips hands curled hairs minds

No longer reflecting mirrored perfection

No longer two molded from one

Away to dusk in October

With grays whites surrounding a kind face

Meant for one last look then

Releasing her hand from around my forefinger

To wherever it may end

In a face without feature

In a life without

Connected to a life still with what