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, 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.


  1. Richard, this is a beautful poem! Such great imagery and piognancy! Wish the art of saying so muc with such few words was something I could grasp even half as well.


  2. Thank you, Margaret. I'd gladly trade you some of my poetry skills for an iota of your beautiful prose writing.