Tag Archives: writing

Mid-day Poem, Sept. 19, 2018

     The aristocrats Cut their grass While the noblemon Mows his lawn It just goes on And on and on * The little girl Don’t have no shoe The little boy Don’t have none, too And neither one knows … Continue reading

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Grand Slam

  You can see it in the batter’s eyes As he makes contact, this time just right He feels it, the perfect click in his hands What he always aims at, but rarely achieves There is no resistance, everything flows … Continue reading

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Morning Poem, August 8, 2018

  In the morning Five young doves On my walkway Grey on grey . They are from another world This world of mine holds no doves No young doves This world of mine is all starlings and swifts . They … Continue reading

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Morning Poem, September 8, 2018

  In the morning Five young doves On my walkway Grey on grey . They are from another world This world of mine holds no doves No young doves This world of mine is all starlings and swifts . They … Continue reading

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The Woman Changes Her Mind

What follows is a snippet from my novel in progress, The Secret of Hill Grove.  To make sense of this you have to know that the thought in these paragraphs is that of Rachel Thompson, the protagonist of the book.  … Continue reading

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Morning Poem, August 6, 2018

  The hurried ratcheting of the cicadas Soars out of the woods, like a siren Acelerating and fading, seeming to approach and retreat The voice of ten thousand hidden mites Cresting and then falling silent . This sound, strange and … Continue reading

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A Promise of Riches

More from the novel in progress – The Secret of Maple Grove.   “When we were ripping out the old lath in the library upstairs, right there to the left of the fireplace, we found a wall behind the wall. … Continue reading

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Afternoon Poem, August 24, 2018

    The branches of the oaks bend lower On these late August mornings They bear not only the weight of the dew But feel the light receding And their life-blood draining  into the roots below The songbirds still dart … Continue reading

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The Old Guitarist

  The old guitarist plays slowly He trusts the song itself to speak And the steel and wood of his instrument To carry the message As they have for the thousands Who played before

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Father and Son

  How far away is the one I love The one who rode my knee The one who I read stories to Who waited by the door for me . How far away is the one I love The one … Continue reading

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