"Don't put things off…it may be later than you think."
“Rain, Dear?”
Splatters drip abundant
Down sloped trolley exoskeletons
Wintering coats repel most water…
But, not all
Surgical masks punctuate the crowd
Riders on then off
The catastrophe of a wet commute
Hangs soggy on the brows of all
“The Pages Between”
Sometimes at the margins…
You discover the pages between
The ones to add
The ones to take away
The ones to cherish
The ones to loathe
Saving some for later
Staring some down
Pushing lead friction
Ability meets imagination
Right there—
The pages between
It is NOT a safe space
But…volatile, dynamic
An eruption of force
An unavoidable gravity
Nothing.
Consuming all
One finite point
Reaching critical masses
The pages between
Expanding ever outward
Until all is written on—
The pages between
“Seasoned Greetings”
Turkey is done
Pumpkin pie put down
Gingerbread emergent
Egg nog flowing rich
Roundish wreaths wrangled
Holly hoisted
Gifts gotten
Parties planned
Winter Solstice Sublime
Fogged windows
Haunted by Dickens
Still. Silent. Air.
Lights abound
Winter wind whipping
Lingering cozy covers
Visible breath plume vapors
Heat escaping hatless heads
Fireplace reveries
Christmas cards arrive
Feasting for days
Numb nose and fingertips
Street buskers bellow
The Spirit spreads swift
“Mountains Misting”
Post dawn play awakens
Mountaintops pulling clouds down
Wisps of Wizard’s beards
Spied dancing among the tree line
Sun rays slicing through
Heralding the advance of day
Echoes of busy, travel valleyward
Surrounded by loud quiet
Peaceful energy vibrates
Nature reminds of its stature
Sunlight washes over peaks
Then tumbles down painting fauna
Jagged granite exposed
Playing hide and peak
Shadows finding the best spots
Tippity treetops tease vertigo
And a sky Godly blue reigns
Mountains misting distant points
Mark moments perceived in time
By the ferocious precious of human existence
What is a mountain misting to man?
What is a man to mountains misting?
“Counsel of the Crowd”
Boston Common jury pool
Sitting just to wait
Impaneled peers passing by
Hundreds of thousands of judgments
Rendered unconsciously
The horde wills itself
Despite small protests
Barrister bums profess innocence
Regardless of their guilt
Happy clams waiting to be plucked
Away from an unjust motion
To dismiss outright, doubt
Just is
Thumbs are on the scales
Just is
Only pretending to be blind
Just is
She’s in it for the handicapped placard
Just is
Courting the illusion
Writing to sit
Peers passing disaffected
Pooling common
Just is
