Buying Beer

I walk into the store

to buy some beer

it’s a favorite place

they have my beer

and they are well stocked

all I want is my beer

small talk is wasted on me

I never did small talk well

and hell is chatting idly 

when all I want is my beer.

Then the cashier

a woman about my age

exclaims, loudly

well, it sounded loud

“Nice haircut.”

I leave with my beer

then it hits me

if I were to do that

exclaim loudly about her

or another woman

I barely know

about their hair

then I’d be labeled sexist

and be forced to recant

and I’m thinking this carrying beer

which is what I wanted

but with the beer I got commentary

on the pitfalls of language

and who gets to call who what

as I head on home

and have a couple of beers.


The New Year dawns

I hate making resolutions

they never seem to work out

sure I’m told you need to focus

my answer, focus on what?

I’m no genius, I just try daily

my writing is sparse, a desert

nothing seems to grow

only the weeds of my thoughts

choking out the fine nuances

that mark the good writers.

Yet, I try each day to see beyond

to reach deep within mining the heart

looking for that one metaphor

that goes beyond mere description.

There are writers and poets

who seemingly do this with ease

their brains are wired that way

it’s a gift not to be wasted.

Maybe, I’m too old for rewiring 

too set in ways beaten into me

by teachers who had no time 

to deal with a daydreamer

yet I resolve to write more

to risk it all on a few words.

Year’s End

Another year comes to a close

and we are looking back 

on one many feel was not great

as soothsayers and pundits

are already making predictions

from the World Series to world politics

some dire, some wishful

yet, year after year we are surprised,

what we thought didn’t happen

that perfect job was not so perfect

the once solid marriage now dust

our illusions shattered in a moment 

the road we were so sure of

turned out to be the wrong path

leaving us rudderless 

as we seek to navigate life’s sea,

growing older does not mean wiser

new illusions take the place of the old

it won’t happen to me, we think

and yet, when it does we get angry

lashing out without purpose

without looking first at self,

these poems I write are my attempt

to look into the depths 

as I journey forward in life

it’s a moment of quiet

in a noisy, mechanical world

as I seek not a perfect life

but a life with meaning

filled with hope and love.

Christmas Always

What will Christmas be like

when it’s all said and done

and the church bells fall silent

as the world continues on

oblivious to the darkened doors

of was once the lighted Cathedral

now a shell holding only ghosts

memories of candles lit and music sung

lost in the noise of the streets.

What will Christmas be like

as we bury whats left of faith

along with the hopes and dreams

of souls in faded photographs

hanging on the cracked walls

of the emptiness that lingers.

What will Christmas be like?

The infant will be born

and hope will enter the world

and light will shine in broken hearts

love will endure and in the silence

we will hear the Word spoken to all

This Day

Once again the day has arrived

in the midst of the busyness

with all the bright lights

and the mind numbing mall music

this day arrives in the quiet

no fanfare, no great speeches

even the most boisterous are quieted

their voices muted, silenced

after all these years

I’m still awed by this day

the old stories heard

the singing of ancient carols

how in spite of all we do

that this day happens

and if we are silent

even for the briefest moment

we might hear that voice

that calls us each by name

as the veil is lifted 

and the Divine is revealed.

Last Minute

Last minute shoppers

rushing about

seeking that one bargain

to lay under a tree

trying to buy love

in the form of gold

all about is noise

distracting our hearts

from that love

which cannot be bought

a love so vulnerable

that it dared to be born

in the midst of lives

seeking to fill the hole

that lingers deep within

of those lost and forgotten


the back of a notebook

special notes lay hidden

bits and pieces 

that are not for everyone

little secrets

filled with tears

places of deep intimacy

that are ours alone

of loves lost

of times past

childhood remembered

a soft spring rain

innocence of youth

dancing on the beach

under stars that twinkle

holding hands

in those first blushes of love

the scent of warm skin

the taste of salty lips

exposing our hearts

secrets held close