This Sunday Afternoon

The sky bright
Through many clouds
Moving quickly
Above the trees
Sunlight caressed
By the wind

A first thought this early morn 

A gentle breeze blows 

Branches scrape against my house 

This brusque goose-like cry

Startles me abruptly 

Poetry’s Power 

Once I was told
Poetry’s power
Comes from framing
Life so uniquely
That people see
Truths they’re hiding from

Experimenting with using the graphic to separate my prose from the poem.  What do you think?

Sunlight Ascending 

As sunlight climbs through the trees
Silently caressing my home
Shadows upon my window’s shades
Transform like living Rorschachs
Into distinct leaves, memories
Of the moment that’s fading

This Painful Evening

Over fifty-years 

Living on this

Spinning rock

Yet moments come

When, still,

That powerless

Little boy

Rises 

Alone

Dreams of the open road

Once I dreamt 

Of the open road’s

Mysteries and delights

Envisioning freedom

And escape, adventures

The discovery of myself

Now I see

Cold nights 

Buried in blankets

Fog inside on windows

Surf’s call outside and loud 

Sleep’s Demands 

Finally it ends

Laying in the darkness thinking

Sleep’s demand winnin

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An Unconventional Life

My life’s been lived

At a right-angle 

To reality



I’ve always valued originality over all else.