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.
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
For T. M. When I was young, but grown, On the sandspit of a lake called Minatare, I witnessed him walk through a litter of glass. In the whiteness of the noon-tide, The glass bits glistered like gem stones. Above, he shimmered in the waves of heat, More beautiful as an aged man, Than … More The Angel of Light
For W. P. “Reality, and its insubordinate dream.” From: “The Pumpkin Eater.” Penelope Mortimer Walking through the rain For no good reason. No umbrella, nor bright, Yellow slicker with a hood. Darkly dressed, but not depressed. No need to impress, Or be the least convincing, today. Now, feeling the incessant drops Begin to … More A Winter’s Walk
For F. R. Taylor TAOS Hands shield the eyes. Viewed from an escarpment, Across the horizon, Mountains are black with forest, But hazed in light. A granitic cloud with a corona Keeps their summits a sacred secret. The heart aches for Taos; It is nowhere to be seen. Searching the plain, … More The Holy City
Two girls shimmy their tummies To the frenetic beats of a hula, Their upper torsos ever poised, Their arms, their hands, Languid fronds in the breezes of dance. A boy, his elbows akimbo, Hops and skips in place, his feet Endlessly scissoring the rhythms. The little ones, Set free by their parents, Squirming, … More Whole and Complete
I choose not to revise these poems, imperfect as they are. I shall let them testify to a mastery that is still in progress. I The mourning sky is in stasis, bereft Of both starling and star. Beneath its pall, Trekkers through a snow-waste feel the slow theft Of their senses. Blinded by White, … More Four First Songs (To Remember Richard Strauss)
“The great light cage has broken up in the air, Freeing, I think, about a million birds.” From “Rain Towards Morning”, By Elizabeth Bishop Balanced on a mountain’s tip, The white orb’s rays Illuminate a cirrus cloud, The aspiration of a Creator. As He inhales, as He exhales, The veil of breath grows thicker, … More Swallows
Dedicated To Alla Gallagher I open the door to dawn. Alone in the park, Under a gnarled bough Still filled with night, A silver-haired woman Makes beautiful gestures. She dances a script That is sculpting the air. I grant an audience, For this ballet has consequence. She raises an arm precisely … More The Queen of Atlantis (In Jefferson Square)
In Memory: Toni Hardley Pink petals, white petals, drifting downwards, Beautify the graves of the earth. The flower veil falls away, and leafy spears, Tinged a reddish black against the bark, Sprout to guard a ripening hoard. Life slowly sobers into the gravitas of fruit. At the heart of each, a bitter, indigestible stone … More The Pink and the White
Readers, keep in mind that this was written many years ago. The pain the poem presents also dissipated a long time ago. The resolution: In the words of the poem, it was another who made me welcome. In Memory of Erich Wolfgang Korngold “With this just-sustain’d note I announce myself to you, This gentle … More Die tote Stadt II
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