Just published, Book III

SEA GLASS SOUL - Invisible Colors, Poems and Paintings

My poetry and Pat Morgan's art - available at,
The Sea Glass Poetry Trilogy is now complete.

Sunday, May 19, 2013


After living on 5th Avenue,
Everywhere else is a dump.
Early winter mornings,
The air on the avenue
Is cement cold, biting the nose.
One feels alive,
The slumber gods forced
To vacate the mind.
Across the street,
Behind a cut stone wall,
Central Park refuses to yield.
The richness is overwhelming.

I’d give up all the gold
To still be living there,
But she, so slender, so skinny
With her shiny black hair
And ivory combs,
Released me.
I left loaded
With just a few regrets,
And a year’s worth of tasteful tokens
Stuffed into boxes that once held
Crystal wine goblets and
Tiffany lamps.

As January’s shadows grew longer
And the street air refused to warm,
The gods must have whispered in her ear,
Lost cause. She finally gave up.
She couldn’t tame the wild man
From a different street.
No good behavior rewards,
Custom dinner jackets, gold cufflinks,
Had made a difference with me.
Maybe I’d been her project.
It took her nearly a year to realize,
She had been mine.

Sunday, April 28, 2013


I was never very young,  
But that doesn’t mean
I was never naïve.
I was foolish enough to think
My thinking was sound
Though in reality
It was simply prideful pomp.
My high school photo
Showed my banker’s stare,
It saved me much trouble,
No miniskirted girls
Looking for a good time
Ever passed me notes.
My youth
Was my chance
To make mini mistakes
With only small penalties to pay.
If I had been bolder,
My adventures would have been grander.
The costs would have been steeper.
I seek no second youth,
No chance to do it again,
To decide between mini and grand.
For me, living without lament
Is a satisfying grace.

Watercolor by Pat Morgan

Sunday, April 21, 2013


Brothers are like billiard balls
Banging against each other
Bing, bang no harm done,
Blood washes away,
Bones heal.

Insults and headlocks
Are common.
Mom, always there, ignores most,
But occasionally snaps, followed
By silence cold as artic ice.

Brotherly bonds grow strong,
Become woven steel.
Brothers cause
Little need for

I bruise easily,
Heal slowly,
Realize now
My loss -
No billiard brothers.

Sunday, April 7, 2013


Will you sing me a show tune,
Lighten my heart
As I sit front row
Waiting to die?

Sing me “You’ll Never Walk Alone”
Since I am so scared.
If I don’t comfort you, it’s because
I need comforting.

I may even turn away,
Ashamed I’m not stronger.
I used to be the one singing,
“You’ve Got to be Taught.”

Just don’t sing me,
“Climb Every Mountain.”
I’m so tired, there’ll be
No curtain call.

Sing me a show tune
So I can hum along
Until it’s over.

from  SEA GLASS SOUL – Invisible Colors (Book III)

Sunday, March 31, 2013


 Ashley was four years old
The summer I went to war.
She was an architect,
Engineer, builder
Of grand sand castles.
Detail and proportion
Were her expertise.

The first morning her mother
Took her to the ocean’s edge,
Ashley, armed with bucket
And butter knife performed magic
Creating a castle built
For a prince and princess.

After dinner, her grandfather
Escorted her on a walk to the beach.
She pulled his arm hurrying him
Toward her creation.  She found
The spot where her castle
Once stood.  Little was left,
Only a wet round mound of sand.

  “Why, Grandpa? Why?”
He pulled her close and hugged her.
What good was explaining
Wind and tides, sun and moon,
The eternal turning of the spheres,
But he tried. 
She protested, “It’s not fair.”
He replied, “It’s not trying to be fair.
It’s just the way it is.” He paused.
“You can build it again tomorrow.”
She did. And again the tide took
Her castle.  All summer long
She never stopped building.

I returned home. I had survived
My year at war. I had lost buddies,
Buddies had lost arms and legs.
I had abandoned all hope of normal.
I watched as Ashley spent her
Summer building castles.

She never said it, but
She showed me:
Don’t let the
Beat you. 
She rebuilt my faith.