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A good, steady rain. Water fills the pocks of the driveway, polishing rocks. * A good, humble rain Bearing white noise Around the back stoop. I sit out to soak in a psalm. * A good, comfort rain. “When the cares of my Heart are many, Your Consolations cheer my soul.” * A good, refreshing… Read more
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The Davinci ceramic Last Supper hung off kilter. Our last suppers occurred in the late 1960’s. The twelve of us, Mom, Dad, six sisters, four brothers, sat at a long leafy table. We were across from each other, not on one side like a Davinci pose. Our attention could not span that far anyway.… Read more
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Many cuts, actually. One after another. Stubs hacked with Each scraping sound. A locust like decimation Of my facial forest. Months of cultivation Strip-mined in A moment. I was in search of A naked mandible. A man able Without a pseudo Mask-u-line. Time to face it. Chin up. Read more
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Leaves on the lawn, A few holdovers, Laying low, Filed in the grass, Right where I left off. Spring; that stuttering tease. Michigan thinks About being nice To the daffodils That yawned yellow A week ago. Then I recall The lion and lambness Of March. Take thine ease O Michigan and March. Send enough wind… Read more
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Is this morning any different? I rose as from the dead. Sleep, that shadow of Turning and turning, Tuck dreams in The sheets. * What of this day? I’m awake enough to see The liquid sky above and Snow lightly salting The patio. * Why the stillness? I shift in this chair Like a first-grade… Read more
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When breaks the morning? The squirrels let me know. No coffee for them, pure adrenaline. Up and down the jungle gym, a chattering. Did one flip a grin? The trees tall their tails. Why cross a street, when branches become rails? The sun’s full on, crowning the trees, but all I see are the likes… Read more
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Naked trees, only draped with sound absorbers. A weeks’ worth of snow bands from the Great Lake. In the predawn glow, gray snow rests on the mingled branches reaching to the twigs. The sun’s light contours what’s already sculpted into A tangle of white muscle on the boney limbs. All quiet out there. Should… Read more
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It’s a mine field. I step into the kitchen, and Everywhere, booby traps. We have pie squared. We have piles of turkey remnants. We have a close encounter Mountain of potatoes waiting For a sculptor to shape it. The homemade cranberry sauce Puckers in a serving bowl. I’ve been stuffed by the stuffing. I’ve been… Read more
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Two turkeys abreast, thawing on a kitchen table. What a pair. Imagine their ghosts having a conversation. “Hi ya, I’m Fred. Ya gotta name der?” “Buckshot, but you can call me buck.” “Sounds like a deer der. You raised by does? Bluah bluah!” “Very funny. No, I was not raised by does, or bucks for… Read more
Poetry, essay, and prose, oh my!
Gerald the Writer 