charmed life

from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (63)

DCF 1.0


we would join hands 

twirl a circle

with wild abandon

then fall into laughter

on the fresh cut grass


summer was summer

for longer than a summer

could be or ever would

be again


when the kids on the street

were everyone we knew

and the world was safe


(June 16, 2020)

a friend's letter from overseas

a friend’s letter from overseas

from a work-in-progress, “process, not a journey” (41)

cold rain

brings spring

her post arrives

too brief

yet still hope

(March 21, 2020)

A Haiku a day for a Month

A little more than a month ago, one of my work mates proposed that she, a math teacher, and myself write a haiku a day for a month. After 37 haikus (I wrote more than one some days), I am going to stop the exercise. I think that my fellow English teacher proposed the undertaking in order to make her write everyday. I do this already, so it did not motivate me to write. I did find it a calming activity most days: a time to stop and think about what was in front of me either physically, mentally, or spiritually. However, it also deflected my attention away from other poems I had been working on. Usually I post about 15 or so poems a month (sometimes even pushing to 20). In October, because of the haiku event, I posted 38 new poems. I like haiku, and like writing them. Usually I make up parameters for my writing in an arbitrary and random manner. During the exercise, I used the traditional 5-7-5 syllable count, although I have in the past ignored that stricture focusing more on the brief flash of attention than on a numbers game. Figuring the syllable count is more of a guideline than a law. I don’t plan on giving haiku up; I’m just not going to sit down each day to write one. I have always written in small snatches of time, never having the leisure to write for extended lengths during the day. So, haiku, and imagism, lend themselves well to going from start to finish in the brief time I have to write. However, I also like spending time in my head as I go through the day, thinking about a longer piece. Therefore, as I stated at the beginning of this ramble, I am going to end my participation in the project. Thanks to all of you who read and liked the work I have posted over the last month.

(October 31, 2019)

Afternoon Saloon

The bar exudes warmth.

The old bourbon is loquacious;

our talk’s tangental.

(October 13, 2019)

The Eternal Now

Sunday afternoon,

drinking beer with an old friend,

memoir’s lost chapters

(September 29, 2019)

Communion Wafer

No one is alone:

the pale, pale moon of morning

offered to us all.

(August 16, 2020)

The Joyous (Lake)

from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress

In various taverns

around town,

we have spoken tegether

for years, gathering strength

from our gentle laughter

over beer, books, and beatitudes.

Each of us offers what we can,

then part renewed.

(June 6, 2019)

The Wanderer

from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress

At home, I cannot move on.

I have few friends here,

but I am content:

I am myself with myself.

Each day, I wander alone

through a foreign land,

where I have no tongue:

no tumblers click

within their conversations,

no prison bolts drop

within their conventions.

(May 31, 2019)


from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress

Daylight expands

over the dark

earth. I, too,

must find a way

home, to be happy

with my friends.

(March 23, 2019)


from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress

We ate a simple shared meal,

a sixteen-bean soup with bits

of Christmas ham. Afterward

we played a counting card game:

They laughed and talked awkwardly,

as players dropped from the game.

I realized, once again,

I do not fit in.

(January 31, 2019)