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, October 21, 2012


                                    The sign over his garage door proclaims
Each morning he opens the garage door and
Sits in front on a sturdy one waiting for customers.

A grey neighbor lady yearning company
Brings him an old chair in terrible shape,
Says, “You can have it for parts, no charge.
Tell me, what are you doing for dinner?”

Two young boys who have to live with their grandmother
Show him a rusty red chair they found on the curb.
He offers them each a quarter, but they want a dollar.
He compromises. He’ll give them a dollar next time.

It’s been ten years since his trusted partner,
The wife he thought he could never win, died.
For three months he cried by day and sobbed by night   
Until he could no longer take the sulfuric pain.

He’d have to decide, either become a drunk,
He could afford vodka, enough for that,
Or find a way of staying sober, keeping busy,
Useful, and not embarrassing himself.

So he put up his sign and now sits and waits
For people to come to him who need repair,
But, he collects parts mostly and smiles, almost
Contently, in front of his open garage door.

Sunday, October 14, 2012


I spent a lifetime
Looking for my mother’s smile.
I picture a toddler crawling into a room,
His mother sees him and
Her eyes light up, a smile erupts.
It’s spontaneous, but
I’m not him and that’s
Not my mother.

Mine held me lightly on her lap
So I wouldn’t crush her ruffled dress.
Other times, my dirty hands and face
Were kept at a distance,
So was the rest of me.
It’s hard to love yourself
When the part of you called mother
Loves best from behind a wall.                          

Her outstretched arms
May not have been
Long enough
To cross the open space
Between us,
But her smile could have
Had she been willing.                       
Had she been able.

Now she’s gone and
The distance between us
Is even greater, so
I picture in my mind
Her smiling at me
With an approving nod.
I know I’m lying to myself,
But it’s a good lie.

Sunday, October 7, 2012


                                                           There are times I
Feel like a snail.
If you look
For me and fail,
It’s likely because
My tiny nose
Only comes up to
The top of your toes.

Although we can’t
Walk together
We could talk together
Sharing a story
Or two about how
You once felt blue,
How you wept and wept
Over secrets poorly kept.

You should know this,
I have a hard shell,
I know not to gossip,
I simply won’t tell.
I come from a family of
Honorable snails
Who won’t ever share,
Other people’s tales.

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