Walk in the Woods



Peering into the sea, I see the rise and fall of my heart beat and my blood flows now like the highs and lows of the tides chasing the pulls and running from the pushes of the moon’s feeling dance. And the sound of a distant bird wakes me from my oceanic dream to reveal I am only napping on the moss. Muffin and thermos still splayed out beside me. Time to get up and get a move on the light will be changing soon.


As I walk through the woods, the gnarled root of an old tree, trips me up and reminds me to “mind” my step and I begin to step and I can hear the crackling of wind led leaves of last years autumn and I can smell the spring onion crushed under my newly falling step and all around me is the hissing sound of life alive. Far overhead a gull sings of another journey and the voyage up north and the anticipation of new life ahead.


The sign off the path says private property, but I can hear the horses and step in just to the edge so that I can see them in their playful reverie. I have always thought that horses remind me of sex and so the whole thing just feels so sexy, but the horses are just eating grass and looking around. I feel awkward and turn too quickly back to the path, but can’t resist one last glance at the horse who whinneys. Life’s trials may try to fool me into believing that I am in some arid and dead land, but that is not where I am, nor will I ever be. I am in the lush and green living valleys of the Catskills, the Shawanagunks, and the Appalachians, where there is no desert but those invented by the hateful and the greedy. The deserts are in the hearts of the lost, but I see my oasis and I am within. I drink from the drinking gourd and I live in the land of plenty.
I wander down these mountain paths and yes I am confused. Did I leave the trail? Which trail is this the green? The red? But I will look to the sun and think of my direction, but the thickly overhanging leaves obscure the light. I am not certain where I am, but I see a house. Further down the trail is a house and, yes, it is the outpost. I will go there. There is always a map there. The fog is rising from the east as the sun lowers and so I know now where the lake is and the car is not far from here. My breathing is deep and slow and my mountain journey is coming to a close. Time to go home.

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Waiting For Reason


Waiting for our reasons,

Dead voices

make a noise like flapping.

Like paper.

No, it’s like a power supply hum.

Talking to themselves together.

Hushed voices crackle.

Whispering they whir

On and on the

Stories of the days of

Breath. And life leaves them

Wanting more.

Death is not enough for them,

They whisper in the leaves.

They make a noise like purring lions.

Like rustling leaves.

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Waiting for Godot

Ode to Beckett

Diminishing spiral lost in ennui.

Mere speculations my dear Valdimir.

Di’s deferment of Estragon’s forfeit,

Go go and show me nothing is coming.

Displacement, my hat, controlling nothing,

I stare deep into its hollow abyss.

We are all thirsty from drinking dead seas.

Nobody will share my private nightmare.

The noose is still dangling but don’t use it,

The sheep and goats bleat for Lucky Pozzo





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the red fox

You pounce on life like a red fox.

There is so much that you have done and will do.

You have and do take care of me and inspire me to pounce.

I think of you when I need to revive and carry on.

You have shown me how to have confidence and stand for my beliefs.

Also how to take time for relief.

I celebrate your active life and your willingness to help.

Your inner confidence in your ideas and beliefs help us all to initiate,

take advantage of opportunities, and overcome grief.

I love you and thank you for caring for me.

Thank you for harboring me when I needed a home,

And inspiring me with your wide world roams.

Happy birthday. I hope you enjoy your next chance to flyaway.

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Water God

Poseidon with your trident and your turtle

You are a water God; the world needs your burble.

Teach us new ways to make the water clean

Ways that we have not yet seen.

Purify and filtrate our water so that all may drink.

Guide superwater man into the future Teach us all to think.

Gentle deep breathing with calm heart beating.

Every night seeking the meaning,

Of a newer brighter world with unity unfurled.

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serenity and tranquility

“To learn and practice serenity and tranquility is to be one with the universal path with full awareness…If we don’t awaken to it, we will never have a chance to be grateful for this serenity and tranquility.”

To do this I study flowers. This week I was studying my yellow primrose and my anise hyssop. The yellow primrose is a harbinger of serenity and the anise hyssop brings tranquility together these flowers bring me beautiful gifts. Largely, I love to watch the honeybees. May and June sing a beautiful tune.

I salute you with my longing and desire. Oh what a blessing fills me with desire. The beauty of your flowers gives me a sense of power. The green grass grows. And peacefulness knows, how to calm my restless soul. Eat toast smeared with avocados. Drink water instead of beer. Naturally, release grief. Embrace belief. Hold tight to summer sun. Believe that it is fun. Hope you will someday return to the days of wine and roses. Water the flowers with long hoses. Notice what you love in the truth, do not follow useless lies. I want to see, irreproachable. Highly unlikely I imagine. I live at the edge of the river where I can hear the passing trains in the night. The birds hop about the lawn. The spring birth is born again. So lucid in your belief of beauty.  Listen to bossa nova. Play chess and don’t forget to adore and respect the power of the queen. Sew her head with a golden thread. Illuminate the perceptions of the love, for people desire to see and feel love. Megan has chickens and promised me eggs. As a team we play a stronger game. Make a pinata out of Donald Trump and work as a team. Do not stress out, instead, fall asleep and dream. Drink chamomile tea. Take long deep breaths in, and an even longer exhales. The yellow primrose is born again. To the pleasure of the baby wren. What a perfect stratagem. Anise Hyssop also easily blooms making a lovely tea. In spring it comes soon and entices the honey bee. Both of these flowers call out a tune of serenity.

Posted in cared for, coping with failure, flowers, poem | 1 Comment

two great aunts

I remember
never as much
as Aunt Nervina,
with her night shift fingers makings dolls,
her photos, and her pale skin.

I do these chores,
never as thoroughly as Aunt
with her hoeing the peas,
and flower beds,
face a leather road map to work,
from her final
sick bed,
reminding me to “get some on the side.”

A slip
of tune?
Thank you. Auntee–

Posted in cared for, chores, poem | 1 Comment

Back when they were boys

Wet dragons red and green on the bathroom floor
Thousand legos long for order-
clean clothes spinning dutifully,
while dirty socks lie in the hall.
Bedtime comes too soon for all,
comes with stories and snack and yet,
can’t I have a little drop?
a lullaby, if I should die B-4 I wake,
a good night prayer for heaven’s sake-
just a soothe to the soul,
a little sugar in my bowl.
Bedtime comes too soon for all.

Posted in cared for, children, education, poem | 1 Comment



When the time comes,Change the bedsheets.

Wash, dry and fold the dirty ones. Boil some beets.

Clean the kitchen and the bathroom.

Take a photo of the family tomb.

Put the washed and dried dishes back in the cabinets.

Don’t drop the dishes or have an accident.

Sweep and rub up messes on the wooden floors.

Clean out the refrigerator.

Mow the lawn. Weed the flowerbeds.

Double-check the new showerhead.

Double-check the gutters.

It’s Sunday,

Call your Mother.

Wipe down the doors.

Practice tai chi and yoga.

Go for three mile walks.

Cook the flounder.

Set the mouse trap.

Clean up the visiting dog’s crap.

Get your MRI.

Talk with the lonely guy.

Take your meds.

Clear your head.

Live up to the expectations of your supporters.

Double check perimeters and borders.

I’m exhausted just thinking of my chores.

Be thankful. Show gratitude.

Create a positive attitude.

Study Science of Water.

Always go to the bother.

Keep checks on your banking.

Be sure to give thanks.

Even though you have broken wings

Keep your eyes on job openings.

Get your computer to improve its buffering.

Relax this is not deep suffering.

I am sure I have left off many more.

For there are endlessly needed chores.


Posted in chores, hard work, poem | 2 Comments


It is the waiting that gets to you, waiting to be somebody, somewhere. When you have lost your way and you are unsure about the new direction it gets to you. I find myself jealous of those who seem to know, but jealousy is a total waste of time. I skipped my yoga class today and my tai chi class on Memorial day. You could make use of the time by listening to birdsong. I am not even making the morning coffee or fussing about in the kitchen. Like a denial of the self, a little fasting. I am being pushed to the edge, my mind is eager to experience something. What will be the next thing? Each day is a couple of minutes longer until the fall of life when each day is shorter. I am in the shorter of the days. It happened so quickly. I stand in a corner, quietly content that I can breath. I should clean out the fridge; it is filled with partial remains that nobody really wants.  I am not a Chief Executive Officer. I am nobody going nowhere. I am able to learn and to find my own way. What am I good at? I am a writer and a public speaker. This will be my goal, to get a job somewhere doing something. The situation will be turned around. I will have love and trust. I will be truthful. I will see the bright side of things in the darkest of moments. My second brain tumor will be my last one. I will recover. I will win again. Find optimism in the midst of pain. I try to live up to a high ideal. Faith is the rope that I use to pull me to path. Sonnets are a blast. I adore the 14 line of iambic pentameter. I am waiting for September when I will get my baby shots again. I will begin again there. I am kind of beginning again already. I have to learn my instruments again, the piano, the accordion, the bass, the guitar. I got the driving back.  How will it feel to be in this new place. What I can do in this moment to keep walking toward what I want. It is okay if I am afraid. I can keep on heading forward anyway. In order to learn to write one must write, and to read one must read. These are things that I will continue to do. I will not wait to do them; I will carry on doing them, like taking out the garbage every day and brushing my teeth everyday. I know more than I believe that I do.

Posted in brain, coping with failure, dream, education, poem | 2 Comments