when you
assemble
all the memories
and the photographs
of the little ones
now grown big
life's true work
is realized as complete.
all those little scraps of paper
with scribble on them
can be recycled
or used as tinder
to light the logs
in the fireplace
as you listen
to the recitation
of the flames
Re Do
If I had my life
to live over again
I would make better mistakes
I might not be happier in middle age
but oh what memories would crowd this page
Flavor of
the Month
I'd like to be
the flavor of the month
chewed and rolled around on your tongue
you'd look at me with your large soulful eyes
while I became one with your pearly whites
butterscotch, pistachio, chocolate marmalade
I'd disappear into your gullet
and neither of us would get enough of it
“It's Who I
Am”
It's who
I am,
or who I was.
A myth
in my own mind,
growing older
and less distinct
with each year.
Who am I?
Adolescent question.
It never goes away.
The face in the mirror
changes.
Whiskers grow
and turn white.
The bent figure
before me
is the infant,
the child and
the teen.
And the man?
Where shall I find him?
Bridge At
Krewstown Road Along Pennypack Creek
The bridge
arches over the creek.
Stone supports split the flow.
There the channel slows
until emerging a single stream .
Children and old men take turns
sitting on a rock ledge
beneath the bridge
watching the green water.
They listen for the sound
of fish tails slapping the surface
before splashing through
the gap in scaled traffic
caused by human highways.
Let Us Pray: Free Verse: Neo Psalm 2, Neo Psalm 5
