Stepping in dogma

Faith is ego

True, deep, abiding
exclusionary faith
is your ego run amok

Blind faith is
egomaniacal, contrary
to belief , less about
submission, more
simple self-absorption

Believing is good.

Absolute certainty,
is all about you

Culture shocks

The ‘Beat Generation’
now needs a pacemaker;
they can still Howl – but
it’s mostly in discomfort

Hippies now take a drag,
teeter on artificial joints
Peace, love, rock-and-roll?
Viagra, naps, Metamucil

Culture they unleashed
now subjected to leash laws
yet I admire their restraint
in not pandering to regret

So, I call…

Her night-sultry voice
achieves what a closet of
negligees cannot


God, incarnate –
chili con carne?
Does God eat
ethnic food?
The recipe on the
bag of beans brags
‘heavenly chili’
so naturally,
I question.

“…yon window breaks”

Light tumbles from her window
staining the grass below; elongated
rectangle of bright green in the night
a trap-door of illumination I want
to step on, fall through, down;
down into the dusty cellar
where she waits by
that light.


I said goodbye
to my share of women.

Some I loved
some of whom loved me.

once in a while
it was mutual.

some of them I left
with regrets,
sometimes I took
them with me because
they seemed
I have left things unsaid
desires unmet
plans incomplete;
left with my head held high,
my tail between my legs,
others searching for answers

sometimes, just because,
other times, who knows.

I have said goodbye
to my share of women.

What they said to me
is probably better unspoken


put behind you
differ from the
you leave behind
and that are
never claimed
at life’s hat-check

what happens,
whats done, done
over and out
see you later
where the hell
did you disappear to?

Prodigal poet

I’ve come back to visit

been quite some time
which is no specific,
I know

where I have been what
has transpired in my

is not all that important
neither is the ‘why?’

I have returned here, to
this time, this place
to put pen to paper
thought to tangible

thoughts left behind
idea tried, discarded,

old notebooks, yellowed
paper, frayed tablets

enlightenment elusive,
may yet be revealed

Pocket change

Old loves are a dime-
a-dozen; here’s a quarter
you can keep the change


Separating the wheat
of bittersweet remembrance
from the chaff that was us

reaping now what was sown
then in blissfully ignorant soil