Take the Love that is there.

It is not simply more love, less hate;

It is “let’s talk about it,”

Let sit through it….the ugliness,

perhaps not holding hands…but meeting eyes,

a scouring pad couldn’t  clean it,

the layer of burnt on hurt…

But I will sit with it, cross legged-like a yogi

I will inhale it’s truth-

as I inhale smog filled air.

I will wear it, even if it bunches at the knees,

And pools at the ankles,

as ill-fitting as a cheap suit with a chincy hand; navy blue,

Sure you can drive people away, flatten them,

Like a race car driver named Pity,

leaving black rubber at every turn.

But like me you’ll awake another day;

Breathe in through your nose,


smell all that is fetid and rank,

Surely you’ll wince and turn away,

but it smells of truth- the kind you avoid

the kind with answers;

and when the air is cleared it smells clean like the sea.

Even Raw chicken,

must be seasoned and roasted,

to bring about flavor.

Sit with all that is real, raw, even the unthinkable

A murderer in a grey walled cell,

Surrounded by each moment of what he has done,

with no where to look but inward.

Go back to the beginning of you,

did it start at your mother’s breast

or did it start on the couch with the canary yellow floral print

and the rust colored piping that trimmed the arms that hugged you in-

that jungle of upholstery telling a story through faint smells

of gingerbread and cigarettes

And drug store perfume that should be called Eau de’mothballs,

take the love that is there and forgive.

Not So Alone

The people down below

Have been doused for days;

a proper washing…

Where’s the scrub brush?

A little misting wouldn’t do.

The sunshine, a large kindly dose,

Was sent to warm them fully,

To rebirth their kindness,

To widen their eyes….

To the needs of those hurting,

To remind them,

even beauty can be harsh;

Even Blinding at times,

Why did they not slow….to smile at one another?

Why didn’t they stop to splash about?

I didn’t want to pummel them with non-stop rain,

But they needed to be soaked,

Plastered, sopping, cold to the bone

Look up, take note

You are not so alone

The Doctor’s Recogntion

Heartache fully realized is relief;

Just as a clay sculptor forms brilliance through design

A forever mark, an expression of capability,

A trademark; “of his truth”

Each artist must journey through the kiln,

Pass through the fire, to know

 His realized beauty.

Once, a grey lump of malleable sand and silt

Emotion harnessed from heart-to hand-to object;

Before him in this thing of nature,

That was once meaningless is now exquisite.

The doctor scrawls his words in his notebook

“A slight murmur”

A stethoscope has changed nothing,

This murmur was his song,

Always one beat behind,

Varnished red, as brown as hemoglobin’s shadow

Always a little blue,

A song of a struggle, a song of a want; oxygenation

How do some live an artless life?  

Why do some fight for air, when it surrounds us?

How could art be….

All that it is

Without the doctor’s recognition

of a broken heart?

Organically Grown

You were witness to my first kiss,
my first public appearance in court,
my first wrinkle

my first bad hangover,
you rode in my hideous joke of a car,
You held my first born,
when I planted my rose garden
You were there telling me
“shovel deeper,
and with your company, I discovered
black with richness, new soil,
beneath the sharp metal edge of my trowel.
Every year I added a new rose,
but never have they been as resistant to my harsh pruning,
never as immune to disease, never have their
blossoms been as as silky or fragrant,
as the one I planted with you


A counselor once asked me,

As I sat with a burgeoning, life-filled belly,

“Why did you choose to have another child?”

Holding back words, I thought to myself

“Why is it that you are so short?”

I wrote her a check

And did not return;

I had work to do,

To prove her wrong

The Captain

              The Captain


Friendship still remains as unsettling

As the salty seas, as the star filled sky

As mysterious as the solar system

Discovery; abandoning all fear

Watching the needle go in,

Facing the mirror

as you take the bandages off

If treasures are to be discovered

Hard work may be disguised as honesty?

And with any ship

You must have a captain…..

Hardship, companionship, spaceship, friendship;

Embarking on the unknown

Takes tremendous courage

Admission that you are not the expert,

But you were born a sufficient captain



The Way it Happens

The tailored ivory suit,

 Expertly hugging every curve,

The color black….

when color seems only to distract.

A gallery showing of photographs;

 Exactly as you would have snapped them,

If only you knew how to work a camera.

A chance meeting that ends

With a phone number scratched

on the back of a grocery receipt;

along with the Roma tomatoes

What if?

Would life be different if…..

I had blue eyes instead of green?

My first food had been carrots rather than peas?

If I grew up on Brahms rather than Beatles

If I had camped instead of flown to Disneyland?

If I had traded cornfields for ocean waves?

Shot guns into the ice rather than skated on it?

Married in a Church rather than a Vegas Casino?

Wrote less and read more?

Traded Sunday School for French School?

Learned to make my bed before adulthood?

Never seen human blood on asphalt?

Or the sideways drenching rain of murder?

Never seen a lightening bug or fried a grasshopper?

Or never traveled far enough to see real poverty?

Would I be me…..

If I didn’t have this moment now,

With you?


All Around there was love……

The turkey was tender,

The sun staked its claim

The stuffing was saged,

On the TV, no game.

The children were quiet

The mood still, like the air

Nothing much said,

No one pulled up a chair.

The stories welled up,

Christmas songs locked away

Silence normally unsettling,

 Echoed unspoken fear on this day

The innards were tainted,

Secrets stuffed like the bird

Something so raw-years past wine

May have purged?

Still the quiet was as real as the stars up above

Even in the silence

All around, there was love




The Sum Of Content


The sum of content


How do you quantify

Life’s satisfaction;

…the sum of content?

To Stand on the Banks of the Seine,

having had a grade-school, life-long friend?

A Subway ride into Brooklyn,

A sizeable raffle win?

To have shaken a president’s hand?

To have marched, in the Rose Bowl in the high-school band?

To share a beer, back stage, with a prominent star

To have escaped death and have the scar

To have plunged unclothed into a lake from a cliff

To have attended the Ballet….bored stiff

To have beheld the womb’s gifts in both pink and blue

To have had a whole day with absolutely nothing to do,

To have settled with peace if today you would bid a final adieu

 Like a once-loved forgotten toy,

Realized love… lost, is better than love you never knew

If your life’s quantifiable meaning isn’t yet infinitesimal bliss

Repair the holes,

Should you need to blow the world a kiss