Screen Shot 2015-08-14 at 10.25.55 AM

This example of my handwriting illustrates the complete failure of my elementary school teachers when they attempted to instill in me the mechanics of the Palmer Method of cursive handwriting.


This is not a day to be out.

There are demons afloat
I do not wish to confront.

They are a frightful lot
even when they are not.

So, I will remain hidden since
hidden is a prudent place for me



Three red tulip blossoms
Return each spring

And we greet each other silently
As we have done for 30 years.


Petals drop
Stems dry

The tulip withdraws within itself
To prepare for reawakening
At its prescribed time.

Charles Bukowski writes…

when a hot woman meets a hermit
one of them is going to

I have not met a hot woman
since I have become a hermit
so I cannot confirm.

But, even at my age,
the possibility provokes
a glimmer in my eye
(but only in my eye).


Ah, you ladies of the night
and you of the day.

All of you.

Back then, I did not know for what you really wished
and now, my age provides immunity and I longer care.

For tonight my comfort lies
not within your embraces

but in a solitary bed
with a single pillow for my head

The Last Poems

A category generally unknown and even unimagined
until the aged poet reaches that place in life
where he disappears into the depths of his soul.

A soul finally unfettered from the chains of youth.

The Face

The face in the mirror becomes less familiar with time.

The image is somewhat blurred in the morning
when my senses are not fully alert and
the sleep crust in my eyes obscures.

Later. it will become distorted
by the fatigue of the day
and will not be the face of my memory.

One day soon, I will stop looking at it.