The Idea Of Order…

The Idea of Order at Key West By Wallace Stevens She sang beyond the genius of the sea. The water never formed to mind or voice, Like a body wholly body, fluttering Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry, That was not ours although we understood, Inhuman, … Continue reading The Idea Of Order…

The Last Day

Not a word about the children they brought into this world, not a question, not a comment about the future holding them, not a look of contemplation passing over his anxious face, just concerns about his life, his property, his time and then... just a melancholy picture taken when their little backs were turned. Who … Continue reading The Last Day


Thinking of him is like pulling crisp white sheets from the linen closet and watching them arc in the spring morning sunlight as I make the bed.  The window is open and the birds are discussing their wives, their lives, their victories. The lines in my face become smooth again and my cheeks are plumped … Continue reading White

Writing is my Art: This is the Forest Primeval 

THIS is the forest primeval.  The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents … Continue reading Writing is my Art: This is the Forest Primeval¬†