Thursday, September 30, 2010


A lone sailor; stargazer
and navigator, set adrift
in a calm and tranquil waterway.
The day is overcast,
and above the mast his banner flies.
Gentle ripples coaxed by
the lake's nautical breath.
The call of the gulls is garish,
nearly nightmarish in their persistence.
An insistence that they be taken
seriously. Deliriously, he tacks,
feeling the wind, aroused and rancorous,
a cantankerous caterwaul at the fall of day.
Waves awash; a wild wake churning,
a yearning to manipulate the canvas
that spurs his vessel on. He is tossed,
a lost soul in a sea of doubt. Shouts
for assistance go unheard; not a word.
He signals a frantic S.O.S.; a message
for salvation. For the duration of the torrent,
the Ol' Salt is battered and splattered against
the ebony night. Despite the norm,
this perfect storm is destructive,
counter-productive to the life
of a cast-away stargazer; navigator.
A lone sailor, gone.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010


Signs of the season
an early arrival
girding your loins
for the winter survival
calls for a dip
a thermal inversion
wrapped up for comfort
from this autumnal perversion
gray murky skies
winds whip and whir
rainy disruptions
the foliage stirs
pull in your pumpkin
keep it warm at all cost
the weather guy calls
for a thick killing frost

Tuesday, September 21, 2010


Morning breaks,
moistened by the evening coolness.
Misty fingers meander
across the grassy knoll, touching
every blade of grass in tender caress. 
A slumbering sun lumbers over the horizon,
rising to prominence by degrees.
The wind wafts over the spreading green,
a scene witnessed time and again.
Summer breathes its last gasping breath,
a cough and a wheeze in a cold autumn breeze,
and an expiration expected, but sadly endured.
Autumn falls.


Monday, September 20, 2010


He walks by night
flashlight at the ready,
he holds it steady
to keep his prey at bay.
Creepily, he slinks; fisher by day,
and by the way, he’s good at his craft.
You’d have to be daft
to walk in the shadows
of the dark moist night,
they’re right under foot
as night owls hoot, and they scoot.
Creepily, they slink, earthbound
and round, for now off the hook.
But as the day breaks
he’s got what it takes,
and anglers, they wait;
they always take the bait.
Just the earthworms he’s chosen.
Two bucks for a dozen.

Saturday, September 18, 2010


On life’s lake languid,
lost in contemplative moments
of nature’s whispers and the ripple
stirred by each minuscule motion.
No nibble besets his anticipation,
but visions of a soul dancing freely
upon every sun glinted wave,
show the change inherent in each
breath of a restless and longing heart.
Nothing else matters. A bad day fishing
Is the best good day life offers.
The line stretches taut as
serenity soars. A fisherman,
lost in the moment.

Saturday, September 4, 2010


All the heat of a million suns
baking; no mistaking your influence.
For in the confluence of words,
the only thing heard is the sound
of a heart beating, greeting the stares
and glares with a clear head
and a passionate fire. It has been your desire,
to progress in talent and scope,
a sincere hope that success comes
with all the trimmings. Skimming your heart,
stepping out of your comfort zone, alone.
Taking your place on stage finally,
tempering your sanity and fighting
off your critics not ready to release you.
It pleases you that they hold you tightly,
but rightly, you have more stages to grace
in search of your rightful place.
Taking the world by storm and being warm.
In the spotlight, never let them see you sweat.