I am a 71 year old, retired, police and fire dispatcher for the city of San Francisco. I have known from adolescence that I am a poet, but I largely put off writing poetry until I felt compelled by circumstances This moment of recognition was a terrible way to fall awake. I started writing seriously, if sporadically, in 2007. The purpose of building a web site for the poetry is not to promote it, but to acknowledge it by preserving it.
Extended Version A speck of vivid, As I bank myself on a bench I see it follow fitfully in zigs Until it lands on my hand. Startled, my fingers wriggle rhythmically, Eager to agitate it upwards Into a hover, if not high flight. But the butterfly remains at rest, All quivering color. I … More PSYKHE
4th Version A speck of vivid, I see it follow fitfully in zigs Until it lands on my hand, All quivering color. When I dare to breathe God’s breath, Reciting as I exhale outwards, A poem quickens and quivers, Mimicking this butterfly. Borne, hovering near, The poem awaits a merciful heart In … More PSYKHE
For L. R. Sitting alone on the sand, The bonfire is lively behind me. Others have gone off To comb along the strand. My thoughts drift Into the diamond tide above, A treasure trove for the soul. Each of the constellations Will tell me a tale, Foretell of a fortune Held in abeyance. … More Midnight
In Memory: Sandi Alva RIP: December 19th, 2014 No matter the exigency, the work goes on. This job, demanding nothing less, Continues to be executed supremely well By the competent and the truly great, alike. Ours is a kaleidoscopic focus; We hear a hundred, fractured voices Simultaneously talk, yell, or gasp Through the … More The Death of a Dispatcher
No matter the exigency, the work goes on. This job, demanding nothing less, Continues to be executed supremely well By the competent and the truly great, alike. Ours is a kaleidoscopic focus; We hear a hundred, fractured voices Simultaneously talk, yell, or gasp Through the raspy static of a radio wave. We excel at … More The Life of a Dispatcher
In Memory: LaVerne Kosterman Golden As if it were a scent of baking bread, The sound she emitted bewitched me Into the doorway of the kitchen. There she stood, Her palms and forearms covered with suds And she oblivious. Her eyes heavy lidded, Her head cocked, she rocked to the right, Sometimes to the … More The Whistler
This was my second homework assignment from God: “Tell the lie which speaks the truth.” Preamble: The Cavern For the Guides of Karchner Caverns That cruel emperor, the sun, it is a star Men worship with obeisance from afar, Even as they scramble, seeking A haven from its daily, imperious decree. Beneath the dome of … More Cavern and Canyon
In Memory: Francine Wiley You were like the crystal That is cracked, but kept On display in the hutch. Or, the ring with a cavity, Revered for the diamond That dropped and was lost. You were like a fountain Where the weary sit and think, Though it is dry from a drought. … More Litany
In Memory: Toni Hardley On her final day at work, Before we left the bridge, And she went home to sleep, She said to me: “You will just have to suck it up, Like everyone else, and do your time.” Then, gently, “You will see, The remaining years will pass, quickly.” They … More The Red Ahead
In Memory: Francine Wiley (France) “Where is your mistress?” Having bounded the shoals, He shakes himself From head to tail, spraying My legs, and, as I kneel, Even my torso, With the gritty, unholy water That has soaked his fur. He lifts his hopeful face And pokes it into mine. Trusting me, he … More Encounter
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