Monthly Archives: August 2021

Nurses have to give up their vacation time, but not youknowwho while provincial Covid spirals out of control, throwing Deena… Province of The Clowns. The whole lot of them. Pepper-spray dope. Dumb-ass LaGrange. Useless Shandro.

Don Everly passes, 84. The many hits, of which I still play-All I’ve Got to Do Is Dream-Cathy’s Clown-Walk Right Back-Let It Be Me-Cryin’ in the Rain-Devoted to You-Wake Up Little Suzie. Don was the anchor/the base, the melody to … Continue reading →

“To fulfil the dreams of one’s youth; that is the best that can happen to a man. No worldly success can take the place of that.”

often in a large, significant way. Like world poverty, the Taliban, the wildfires, or the idiots who support Trump. One has to focus on being true to oneself, one’s own interests (and those closest to one), daily necessities, family matters, … Continue reading →

(a sign of the times: decontaminating delivered packages) Since March, 2020, a lot has changed for me personally. A significant diminishment.No more Stroll of Poets live cafe readings. (Online readings not the same.)Very limited contact with my son’s family and … Continue reading →

but, as he showed yesterday by not being at Deena’s press conference apology/falling on her/his sword, he’s justThe Coward of the County.Has been all the way; will be the rest of his reign.

( a very prophetic poem about today’s world light years ahead of its time, methinks) Though mild clear weatherSmile again on the shore of your esteemAnd its colours come back, the storm has changed you:You will not forget, ever,The darkness … Continue reading →

(RD @ mending wall referred to in poem, 1991, Robert Frost Farm, Derry, N.H.) Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,And spills the upper boulders in the sun;And makes gaps even two can pass … Continue reading →

by Jorge Luis Borges My cane, my pocket change, this ring of keys,The obedient lock, the belated notesThe few days left to me will not find timeTo read, the deck of cards, the tabletop,A book, and crushed in its pages … Continue reading →

Never Again Would Birds’ Song Be the Same He would declare and could himself believeThat the birds there in all the garden roundFrom having heard the daylong voice of EveHad added to their own an oversound,Her tone of meaning but … Continue reading →