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.

Saturday, December 17, 2011


I remember as a kid,
Each December, Grandpa told Stories from his childhood )>
When Chanukah was a simple holiday.
Lighting candles, one the first night, two the second, one more )>
Each night until all eight burned so bright,
The bronze menorah ablaze in light.  Prayers sung, stories told, )>  
Old ones by the adults,
New ones by anxious kids finally old enough to take a turn. Songs )>
And clapping filled the air, Chilly to save coal.
There were no gifts, no little toys for the children, just gratitude being together. )>
They’d watch the thin candles
Burn down, wax melting, dripping, pooling on the table.  First time )>
We celebrated without him, my father
Cried softly as he retold Grandpa’s Sherman’s Chanukah stories. )>
For many years he continued
The tradition adding memories of his own. My own eyes are wet, )>
My heart so full as
I tell you these stories, my Grandpa’s stories, your Grandpa’s, )>
Stories that will go
On and on.

Sunday, December 11, 2011


Some writers hope
To make a living
From their writing.
I seek immortality.

My writing
Will likely be forgotten
In a garden lily’s lifetime.
My hope is
Publishing my poetry will
Inspire my daughters to dream,
Conceive their own books,
Books better written than mine
Remembered for successive seasons
Inspiring their children
To write wonderful books,
Maybe one
Will become a classic,
A book never forgotten.

Inside that book a dedication
To my grandfather
Who wrote poetry
And I
Will have gained
My writer’s immortality.

Monday, November 28, 2011


My morning walk, so important to me,
Alone with the dark as comfort,
Mondays always into town
Passing poorly maintained
Row houses, then
Without announcement,
Chained to a paint chipped porch,
Two old rusted bikes grab my attention,
Token-less transportation
Better than walking to work.

Inside the journeymen sleep
Dreaming their wishful fantasies,
At best, a kaleidoscopic future.
I understand so little of their lives,
How they survive, feed their children,
Save for a kitchen table or toaster oven.
I’m outside, but I know in my head, I
Need them, their youth, energy, optimism.
They need me too, to pay cash and
Not abuse their delicate dreams.

Sunday, November 20, 2011


Watercolor by Pat Morgan

Before I was born,
I lived in my mother. 
The sages say,
I was taught wisdom there,
But when I left
The sanctuary of my mother,
I forgot all I had learned. 
Parents and teachers
Do not teach us, as much as
Help us remember. 
Once, in a dream, I recalled
The way it was in the womb:
Warm, cultured, all needs met.
Now I’m awake, I wouldn’t,
Not even if I could,
Go back to Eden.

Sunday, November 13, 2011


Sitting silently
In the viewing gallery
Staring at a wall filled with
Family pictures of faces lost,
Each different, but the same
Sharing a common fate,
A fellow standing near me
Saw my wet cheek,
“Did you lose someone up there?”
I knew none of them,
I knew none who had lost one of them,
I was equally unrelated to all of them.
Did I lose someone up there?
I lost them all.
My voice failed,
I had no reply.

Sunday, November 6, 2011


I live in a house
Of my own design
With windows and mirrors
Made of glass;
Through my windows
I see people walking,
In my mirrors
I see only myself.
The difference between
A window and a mirror
Is a thin layer of silver;
I lose a piece of myself
Every time I let silver
Come between me and
Seeing other people.

Sunday, October 30, 2011


Woman bared in the window
Moonlight makes her skin glow
What does she know that
She’s staring at me so?

Has she no modesty
Where is my chivalry
As I walk past her property
Why aren’t I faultlessly free
To turn away and go?