living only
on memories

fallen on my knees
asking only to please

who is greater than me,
the Creator.

you realized
your jazz quartet

called Alcatraz
on the last train

to San Francisco
and woke up

at the club
with a large audience

you cut out
before the final dance

of life
when death declined

to rival your life.

by the rocky shore
you move with

known eyes
along the water

searching for flounder
and then we site

the fishing boat
we round her

and our wishes
come to us.

a drone
flies near the slate roof

the sky
is still there

by the branches
of the elm

while blues from my
guitar is being played

the ferry
with tourists

docks by the shore
on the wind gusts

of an isolated storm
on the coast

with orange frenzied
light

two of us
reading

on the same line
striking a chord

by the piano
like shadows

leaving our memories
behind

the cat
in his crawl space

to enjoy his hour
the day falls in place.

the earth speaks
to my soul

in which love
is my goal.

such a day
of sunshine

yet there is
suffering in mine.

whale watching
by the docks

along the shoals
of the cape's sea waters

in liquid blue waters
of green dark shadows

off the Cape
of birdsong animation.

the park
is deserted

except for a child
juggler with a ball

in a rare silence
except for the birds

and a violinist
playing a song

without words.

on notice
for swimming

the life guard
in the mirror's waves

watches
the illuminated ships

on the Atlantic
without any panic.

on halibut point,
rock port

our feet in the waters
slowly move

as we see divers
their backs to the ocean

gather in fish nets
for their basket.

a river's tree
by the salt spray

on a late
june day

street riders
ventures

bicycle
out of their troubles

while circling
their world

of verses
of wheelhouses.

soccer players
outside my world

of shadows
and windows

wave to me
on the ocean floor

of my last night
dreams.

children make lines
on the beach

reach out
for the waters

on the cape's pier
as the noonday disappears

digging for clams
and oysters.

inspecting the rocks
stones

in the gateway
of squatting lovers

who greet me
with a smile

on a sunlit
dawn.

seeking wisdom
and freedom

at my age
when it vanishes

from the sea wells
of words

of clinging
sands.

perhaps
your sentence

is your life
leaving me by

needing a companion
spirit

to nourish
this unfinished time

for a poet
wheeled by the stars.

nightfall
with all dreams

through the skylight
in a lag of time

when people
define you

though appreciate
you and your words

even in my late dawn
i sight humpbacked whales

struggling to stay alive
being caught

by human fishing gear
in a beached state

as two dolphins visit
in a surprised hour.

faces of hours
in the crevices

of the bay
watching oyster

gatherers
on barefoot feet

the sky is assured
of blue.

here is a poet
who recognizes nature

invents hidden memory
to witness his fate

from the mirror
of art and history

flowing with darkness
and light.

narrow paths
of hyacinth and roses

birds on stones
by the Cape's seashore

a hedge
of sunflowers

love poems
left in the dark.

like summer rain
after a rough winter

sunlight emerges
in a silent day

except for the birds
who hover near the pond.

with every sound
of June rain

at the showery sound
on the path

by the sea's
white sand.

no way
out of so much

like Dutch
elm

yet my body
touches love.

otto warmbier

you had no chance
in korea

may you be freed today
of your suffering.

wrestling
with so much suffering

over my shape
of health

praying for
an overturn

of my fortune
to free me.

ends of days
ends of words

in life's
acrostic puzzle.

Joshua trees
in the Mohave desert

the breeze still
is flowering

even in the heat
of thought

we hated war
and injustice

for identity
is to be for humanity.

playing the rain sonata
by my studio

casts a shadow
in the land of yes and no

when my life
is touch and go.

apples
in a basket

gaze into
each others core

knowing
what spring

is at the morning
for

So much symbolism
in art

of my hands
where the bluebird lands

to feed on bread
he gently takes

in his mouth
while going South.

the inquest
as a guest

of the green
playing golf

while you
day dreamed

of a better June
when it would not rain.

The jet black
of a land bird

vanishes into
the landscape

of my painting.

your hands
full of roses

impose
its revolving will

among the green
of roadside patches

the sun catches
you unaware.

Packed up
for a summer holiday

quivering
like a eucalyptus hillside

on a twig
and leaf

trying to discover
a belief in love

A new book
held up

at the margins
of reality

in a ration card
of intimacy

you read
on the hammock.

Morning when the wind
in children's hour glasses

rise on the playground
and the one sound

of the cardinal
is constant

on the field
outside my window

and the shadows
of the sun

are mirrors
of a blue June sky

Drifting in my world
of flotsam and objects

of prisms of art
living for the courage

of doing my everyday
part for beauty

watching a film
on modernism.

modernism in my
flow of words

painting in a scenario
of my own  text

who knows what context
language contains

in the camouflage
of sky blue in our age.

in the wellspring
of my mind

contains my world
valid for life

though in the time
of my great suffering

we endure
the culture of everything.

Having iced tea
and a murdered croissant

on the back porch
in the scorching heat

my feet buried
by the salt spray river

the trees budding
on this June bug day.

The river flows
how soon we forget

the winter snows now
here among the violets

as if we are to go
for a drink at the fountain

and what sweet water
comes off the mountain.

POLITICS

Scams and slams
from sins tricks

and the assassin
who can win

no one doing their part
without a clean heart

in a panegyric
of politics.

Sitting by the ocean
by the rocks

of Newport
by sands of time

remembering times
and faces

now set to a memory
of words.

The earth
is full of glory and memory

it was also a lonely sky
of many radiance

for a poet
who will shine.

I made an elephant lamp
for my aunt

at summer camp
in the Vermont forest

I rest the memory
of my childhood

by her kitchen
wooden cupboard.  

the sun
leaves our memories

in front of our eyes
without impediment

the morning relaxes on
in the nests of time

the rocks by the sea
are shadows of prayer

hours astonished
to delay her by the tree.

As an outsider
in the garden

even the spider
seeks pardon

for the web
he wove

offering us
a treasure trove

of enjoyment
in his limited discernment.

Facades and arcades
from white buildings

in St. Dennis
after walking a short time

where a songbird sings
as Cynthia a flower girl

brings hyacinth
to the tennis match

as a young man
hears the sparrows whistle

among the underground
of shivering thistles

circling on court
and a poet in the corner

with his racket
in hand

huddles on the field
as clouds in the distance

offer us a rainy Sunday
altered his fragmented thoughts

effacing a memory of a fox
in the windy distance

with the childhood chance
of reciting disconnected prayers

Cynthia offers
a loving glance.

A child declines
to slip into his pajamas

sleep is not his favorite
time to dwell

the light above him
chimes from bells

his footsteps now
on the stairs.

With the sound
of wonder

in experience
from the underground

of expedience
we live each day

dying to make
our way in our perusal

and reach out to live
forgive and survive

in death's refusal
and to be a blessing.

PLUM ISLAND

The sea

is Monet blue

the sky

faces the rising sun

and I am one 

swaying shadows

of my memory

along the beach.

Knowing

that every
revelation

gives a new
self introspection

to my life's
inspection

in the void of my time
of day dreams.

WHO HAS THE TONGUE

Who has the tongue
of the canary

at the window
of the contrary shadows

of the breeze's birdsong
to receive me

in the train of an hour's
sand.

CAPE COD

Any new start
when you are not ready

to begin the morning
in transition

shining in shadows
from the sunshine

at the windows
geraniums,blue bells

knowing life
tolls for you.