Poetry and Short Stories

Short Stories

Walls, Offcourse Literary Journal Issue #38, Spring 2008

Just One Thing, Flash Fiction Online, Sept. 2008

Memento, Falling Star Magazine

My Best Oasis, The Cortland Review, Issue 40

Button Men, A Fly In Amber, January, 2010

The Last Time I Painted His Face, The Shine Journal, December, 2009

The Tower Of Babel, Etchings 7, Chameleons

Dingo, Etchings 9, Love and Something

Love Junkie, Envoy Magazine Issue 9.

Lifting The Veil, Envoy Magazine Issue 9.3





A Dream


I dreamed of you again last night.

Something had happened and this was after–

a play, a graduation–something.

You were standing about with the others

scraping the toe of your shoe against the sidewalk,

laughing softly, smiling.

I ran up and hugged your neck,

your dear Old Spiced white collared neck.

Your arms went round me.

I breathed in your strength;

a cushion of comfort around my heart

that stayed with me

long after my eyes opened.


The Morning After

I said, “You look awful!”

“It was awful,” she replied.

“He wouldn’t shut up.”

I laughed.  ”He had some nerve.”

She said,  ”I know—

Technically, he wasn’t even there.”




Catching the bouquet

Never works.


The larger wishbone

is no guarantee.


A rabbit’s foot

Is just the part that’s missing from the rabbit.


The first star wish

Is always made in secret.


And my apple peel

Did not stop at your initial.


Offcourse Journal Issue #39, Fall 2009




It takes a million words to woo a woman

But only five or six

To break your heart:

We should see other people.

It’s not you, it’s me.

We can still be friends.

I need to be alone.

And if she’s feeling generous:

I have to figure something out.

But you don’t because

Goodbye is very clear.


If I Never Move

I’m standing at the kitchen sink

I’m standing at the kitchen sink

I’m standing at the kitchen sink

My hands clench cold steel taps,

And If I never move perhaps

the day will not progress.

Time will stop with me:

The sky will stay profoundly black,

Stars weeping their diamonds

Upon snow that never melts.

Birds will not awaken,

The cat and dog not age.

This pot of coffee will stay hot,

Forever it will be

Tuesday morning

Five thirty AM,

And you will not have left.


Things Disappear

My dear,

I know yesterday

I said, “I won’t throw this away”,

but then hey, I did.

Now, wasn’t that stupid?


Because here

you go, demanding it.

Your brow will knit

as you attack the recycle bin,

like a conquest. You must win.


Standing clear

I’ll murmur, “I don’t know…

It was clinging there below

your picture of the deep blue…

Now, where could it have got to?”


Your face a sneer,

you’ll be furious

and I’ll sigh because

it was just a scrap of loose leaf

in an endless blurr of paper—just one sheaf


blowing through our tiny sphere.

Like the thoughts of a moment ago,

the plans and ideas we think we sow

so real until their moment draws near—

after all, things disappear.


Offcourse Journal Issue #42, Summer 2010



Arm’s Length

Can one love at arm’s length,

elbows stiff,

lungs begging to let go bottled breath?

Is admiration love—

From great distance,

countenance absorbed,

chin locked in contemplation,

while velvet rope barrier and

wall of spectators

separate one from the dear object?


A paltry substitute

for messy, wearisome love

that grinds one down day after day

until all that’s left is soul—

soft and vulnerable

pure golden,

perfected gift of



The East Aurora Advertiser, Summer 2010



What Comes With Age

People whine so much about getting older.

It’s true our bones ache,

Our eyes must work much harder now

Just to take in the faded images

We used to blur with gin.

And it’s much more difficult

To hide the silver

The wrinkles

The skin that drapes instead of clinging to our shapes.

Old men still look at women

Just not at us anymore.


But with time passed

There also comes a knowing,

A certain confidence in understanding

That what we don’t know

Was meant for someone else

And what we do know

Is enough.


And wonderful surprise–

You are there

Waiting, patiently beckoning,



I Don’t Eat Spicy Foods Anymore

I don’t eat spicy foods anymore,

nor read the paper

nor watch much TV.

I brush my teeth with warm water,

take off my glasses when I really want to see.


At mass I sometimes can’t make out the hymnal

and so sing the wrong words, loudly and off-key.

I walk my dog instead of running,

now and then enjoy

a comfortable cup of tea.


One day soon I’ll quit coloring my hair,

I’ll garden more and chase the children less.

The books I read will all be poetry.

And I’ll look back on my life as a movie,

clapping my hands at the parts I like the best.


From The Porch Swing/Silver Boomer Books/2010





Of Thorns

I held the whip in my right hand,

His precious wounds spraying my face.

I tried to use the excuse, ‘I didn’t know’

like a child who says

‘I forgot’ to get

out of a scrape.

But I knew.

We always know

and simply choose

to look the other way

or close our eyes because

we cannot bear the sight of blood.


Memento: Falling Star Magazine




He gave up His life

for us.

We casually acknowledge this,

looking at our watches,

wondering if the weather will hold for a round of golf,

taking for granted a love too deep to contemplate,

so unfathomable

we blush to say His name.


And yet, He is the air

we breathe,

the food we eat, the warmth

we feel when clasping

hands. But, like spoiled children we call on Him when

we are in trouble and spend the rest of our

time  demanding

dessert before dinner.


Am Here For You

I am here for you.

I knew there was a reason


since I was a little child, swinging

on the playground, looking


out over fields and forests,

deeply inhaling pines.


I longed for things to stay the same

and never to grow old.


But even then I realized

my childhood was fleeting;


each day marking a tiny change

so small it was not visible


and would not be until

years and years occurred


with changes, all piled

upon each other.


I await the purpose

that will sprout from


this mountain of change,

for me,


for you,

for everyone,


But mostly for

me and you.


Joyful!, March, 2010