Today, a friend asked me why I never seem to want to talk about national politics.  Anyone who knows me is aware of my willingness to discuss politics in general, and state and local politics in particular.  So why do I avoid talking about national politics? I thought about it for a while, and replied…

The following verse is from 1969.  As is the case with many of the pieces I wrote at that time, I have no memory of composing it.   It seemed to spring, fully-written, into my mind.   I think is is a reflection of my state of mind at that time, which was that the loneliness I…

To wait, And not to turn Away when trouble strikes; To stay, when others beckon you, Is Love.

I'm in the mood for a short poem today: The Next Phase of my Life a haiku My body feels like a sponge; Void of all content, Alert, and primed to absorb.

A short while ago,  I promised deeper poems.  What follows is a second poem about my mother and what it was like when alcohol took over her life.   It is also about my relationship with my father, but more on that later...   Why I Love Darkness Memories Are not backlit; Like fretful flies, They…

In the past, I have posted about double dactyls here and here. In 1966, or 1967, When Hecht and Hollander published their book of Double Dactyls, Esquire magazine held a competition where readers could submit their own double dactyls.   I wrote the three that follow, but I didn't have the courage to submit them. Jiggery-Pokery!…

Not long ago, I posted about the influence that poetic form has on the effect of a poem.   At that time I said that I intended to do further experiments with translation of a poem from one form to another.   Here is my next attempt. The starting point is a light verse I posted almost…

I don't remember not being able to read.   I do have a clear memory ( I was two or three) of being lifted up and placed in the center of a big bed — covered in one of those old-fashioned bedspreads with raised embroidery.   My father surrounded me with what seemed like a sea of…

In 1952, my family moved to the upper floor of a house at 1412 North St in Beaumont, Texas. As was common in Gulf Coast homes of the period, the house had ceiling fans in every room (except the bathroom), and a screened-in sleeping porch at the front. My four-year-old sister and I were given…

It has been a while since I’ve published a poem on this blog, and there is a reason.   I’ve been preparing myself to write about more serious personal issues. About a year ago, I had a profound, life-changing experience. I went on a two-day retreat in which I did nothing but eat, sleep, and read…