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, August 26, 2012


New to the sea
Still transparent
And untried,
Defined edges,
Jagged corners,
No frost or
Stories to tell.

Little children
Young and faultless,
Innocent smiles,
Fingers like butter
Soft to the touch,
Laugh when happy
Cry when wet.

Sunday, August 19, 2012


            I saw an athletic man at the beach
Playing keep-a-way with his two little daughters by
Holding a small football high in the air.
Like moths flying around him, they tried to get at it.

Determined, they tugged at him with pleading more than strength.
The little one, four or five, pulling on his shirt,
The older girl, maybe seven, jumping at his outstretched arm.
He didn’t give in, they didn’t give up.

They screamed their intentions, but he
Just back-peddled like a quarterback making them chase him.
No matter how hard they tried,
He kept the prize beyond their reach.

This went on for a frustrating amount of afternoon.
I was sure he’d finally reward the girls giving them the ball and their gold medal,
But no, he held on to it until they finally lost interest,
Then with an Olympic smile, their aggrandizing dad dropped it to the ground.

He didn’t hit nor yell at them, but I thought he was cruel none-the-less.
What lesson was he trying to teach them? Never give up.
I doubt it.  What lesson were they most likely learning?
He’s a man, bigger and stronger.  We can’t win.

As I walked away feeling sympathy for the girls, scorn for their father,
I wondered, will some future boyfriend
Strike a resonant chord in one of their unarmed hearts
When he refuses to yield and acts the bastard.

Sunday, August 12, 2012


She cried cause the rain
Kept her a prisoner princess
While outside the waves
And the wet sand waited.

I could take no more
Of her tears, so
I placed a sand dollar
On the table in front of her.

I told her, “Break it.”
She didn’t move,
Just stared at me.
“Do it and you’ll free the doves.”

Reluctantly, because I insisted,
She pressed her thumbs
On the fragile shell’s center.
It shattered into pieces.

“Now look through
The small fragments,
Find the doves.” 
At first she refused.

Finally, with her finger,
She spread the bits of shell
And examined them.

“There are no doves…no, wait.”
She held up a fragment of shell,
With a cracking voice whispered,
“It’s a dove.”

I smiled. “I know.  It’s your dove.”
“But all I did was break the shell.”
“My dear, what you did,
Freed that dove.”

Her tears now dry,
She no longer felt
Like a princess prisoner 
On a rainy day.

Sunday, August 5, 2012


With a nose as big as a Buick
He could smell a dog relieving himself
On the next block.

This was no gainful asset,
It made his life
Odorous hell.

On his bus ride to work
He knew who had showered
And who had not,

Who took salami for lunch
And if the bus driver
Took a swig before his shift.

Last week he got lucky,
A close friend gave him
His cold.