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.
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
From a tower, at the first hour, a bell Tolls thrice, the summons for monks to come pray. None who walk the midnight garden can tell One flower from another. Each is gray. All is a colorless ghost of itself. Thick clouds obscure all but the fiercest star. Old pots of ash are now … More Nevermore
It is my kiss, which never met your lips; It is the one word I leave unuttered; It is my soul in bloom, the petal tips Unfolding on a hand without gesture. Accept, to sense a touch beyond all touch; To hear a silence filled with thoughtfulness. Revere. Let go of this reserve, this … More The Red Rose
When I was in the seminary, I was taunted by one of my classmates: “Let’s discuss Golden’s philosophy of life.” Almost fifty years later, here it is. At some point, I shall contact this person and direct him to read my poem as his penance. This was my first homework assignment from God. After I … More The Last Lay Lost
In Memory: Cheryl Gagnon How have they flown? Did they spiral upwards in a circle, A cloud of wings aspiring? Or, were they driven down And outwards, the hurling fists Of an animal madness? What is this place bequeathed? A wormy lair to snare The most beautiful feather? As if it were an old … More The Bird Tree In Winter
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