Nightmare Times

Shadow Creation,
misting down
attic stairs.
Cold “haint” fills my nightmare times,
takes leave with my soul.

Be gone, you!
“Undigested beef!
More of gravy than the grave…!”
I refuse your haunt!

Late night sweats.
Down dark alleyways
being chased.
“Have mercy
upon my tortured spirit!”
I cry in the night.


Posted to dVerse Poets Pub for Meeting the Bar.






You asked me last night how I deal
with the pressure, where I go to vent,
all the political baggage I take
in throughout the week.

My answer tonight was that if I stay
in poetry, imbibe
literature, all the diatribe just becomes
gas, a methane flame off the landfill
of my brain.

I’m reminded of the news — released
by the previous regime — that cow’s flatulence,
the methane emitted by incontinent bovines
is one of our greatest sources of greenhouse gasses.

A perfect metaphor, I think,
for all political rhetoric lately —
bovine gas on both sides of the aisle.


Something from my first day blogging.

Life in Portofino

Dallas-thunderhead-cloud_231234 from


When clouds roll in
and obscure our light
there is nothing I know to do
but bend backwards
as far as my backbone allows
and hold my breath.


Dissatisfaction and annoyance
has the ability to break bones
and leave a body dry,
bleached, brittle in the rain.


Smile on me, sunshine.
For I am weak without you.
Shine on me.
For I lose direction without
your light to give me guiding shadows.

— 4-27-2016

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Starred Man


Life on Mars.  I found
this cut on a long-ago
album.  The innocent
idea of leave your troubles
and woes, light the fuse
and away it goes.

Red roadster, red roadster,
let Starman take over.

Off of cruise control –

ground control –

cruising the Solar.

What a system!


An oddity.  An odyssey.