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, June 24, 2012


King Arthur was wiser,
More understanding
And exceedingly bright.

Lancelot was young and
Full of himself, but at least
He was a knight.

They came after dark
And woke me up,
No longer able to wait. 

“Come with us,” Arthur said,
“Join our ranks.
I promise you a noble fate.”

“Lead, I will follow you.”
I pledged all my blood,
muscle and bone.

What I wouldn’t give
To save someone’s life,
Maybe, even, my own.

Sunday, June 17, 2012


Watercolor by Pat Morgan

The first time my Dad took me fishing
We brought a bag of worms.
He selected a big, fat one for his hook,
A small one for mine.  I didn’t mind. 
He saw I was reluctant to pierce
My worm with the hook.  Without a word
He took them from me.  I didn’t mind.
I was anxious and pulled the line before he was done.  
The hook caught his finger,
Blood beaded up.  He didn’t yell at me.
After an hour he suggested we leave.  I didn’t mind.
He hadn’t caught any fish.
I only caught his finger.
He didn’t mind.

Read more poetry at

Saturday, June 9, 2012


God did not create darkness;
It was there in the beginning.
His first creation was light
And he saw it was good.
Was darkness not good?

Did it have an ambiance
Of aloneness? Make God feel
Uncomfortable? Was it
So thick he could touch it?

Did he create the world
So there’d be something
Besides darkness?

Was man his ultimate vision,
Or simply a companion,

God’s shining sidekick,

Saturday, June 2, 2012


Watercolor by Pat Morgan

A widower with no children,
Meets and marries my mother
Becoming her constant, devoted companion.
We become his children and grandchildren.

His brother’s family resents
Being displaced, no longer
Beneficiaries of his warmth
And string-tied boxes of baked goods.

Who will remember David?

My children delight in his company,
The only grandfather they know.
They grow up and if they think of him,
They don’t say.

Confused, he calls me looking for my mother,
Unaware she’s home and he’s
Dying in a veteran’s hospital.
He is cremated, ashes scattered.

Who will remember David?

My mother continues living
In the condominium they shared,
When she dies at ninety
We bury her next to my father.

But who will remember David?