Archive for the ‘What You Wish Believe’ Category


Bundled snug in withered wraps,

trembling hands and moon stained faces

turned stone defy night bitter frozen,

haunts them dare they flee.


Down, the toll piled
steadfast, high against them,

hero ghosts come say them stay


their candy cotton statues

‘midst emerald straws and

diamond sparkles tell the spring.

Cheer on!

caps turned out, rally beckon,

prayerful hands up high awaving,

begging hope and dreams waft eternal,

least ’til all them nine have played.
                  ~ ~ ~


She left

‘ere she came,

mine teeming heart

chilled ere it warmed.

I kept aside her

tried I know,

I could not know.

I loved her

‘ere I felt her

And all that came

’twas all could come

of love

we lived

like this.

    ~ ~ ~

Angler Motel


I don’t know why I can’t erase my mind’s picture of the place. It comes less often than before, but when it does, it is more vivid, more deeply ingrained and yields to no neglect.  I knew I had to go again.

I came upon it first; it was the early sixties, its faded neon lights flashing Angler Motel at the top of the hill where it lay beneath a grey‑capped, peach-sherbet sky.

In the parking lot, pot-holed and graveled, I sat solitary in my car trying to decide whether I understood her invitation or if I was foolishly entertaining my inclination to fantasize.

I followed her from the diner, her subtle invitation I inferred.  I drove fewer than ten miles, lost her briefly when she topped the hill, and then almost driving past the place myself, I saw her tear-drop tail lights go dim.

I followed, no less assured fate drew me there.  Now I waited while she attended matters at the front desk. 

I didn’t know her.  Or maybe I did.  And there was something about this place; solitary atop the hill where lovers’ dreams born here, blow away, sucked up in the wake of speeding tractor-trailers and weary travelers rushing past, pressing on, opting for a better place.

I was older now.  Wiser too.  Yet here I was again, transplanted amidst neon vacancies and croaking frogs, immersed in the wistfulness of Elusive Butterfly, whispers from the AM dial.  Waiting.  Wondering . . . when would she be here too?

` ` `


Gimpy gait he struts
solitaire without a shadow
rutted, rusted road snakes
weary ’round each bend.
Shifting shaky sand slips and slides.
His old feet fail,
fall faint upon it
stagger storm and strut
stones rock and pebbles pinch,
fault-filled gait crackles ‘neath each step
Pounding onward, pushing forward
Past the slights the past portends,
Potent danger
Daunting dares
Dante’s depth.

       ~ ~ ~

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