Tuesday, July 10, 2018

Internet spirits

Internet spirits

I keep e-mail addresses

of friends and family

who have died

Just in case they reach

out and want a quick response.

Their Facebook pages

are like tombstones,

I visit to pay my respects.

I’ve got ghosts in my machine.

Thursday, May 31, 2018

I'm not Grizzly Adams

I'm not Grizzly Adams
Mowing the lawn A rabbit charges
from the Lilac bush
and I almost have a heart Attack
I'm not Grizzly Adams.

Tuesday, May 15, 2018



My wife and Daughter

are my anchor and lifeboat,

In stormy seas.

When I despair

And think about sinking

below the dark water

They pull me back

out of the darkness,

into the light

Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Dreams about another life

A dream 

I’m in a dust bowl era revival tent

Filled with Okies , Negroes and reservation Indians

There's an Indian preacher named six spurs

on a stage stirring up the crowd.

He Carried six spurs,

Each spur told a story Of pain and redemption

On the road to salvation

Every time he raised a spur the crowd chants


an old Ute in a feather-adorned cowboy hat

shares a pint of snake oil with me, telling me about

being forced off his land for not following the white man's god.

Outside in the dirt parking lot

Laughing kids take turns laying

in a coffin and staring up at the stars.

Friday, February 9, 2018



My car died on the interstate

Between work and home.

Old rancher in an old pickup

Stops and gives me a ride.

Ashtray brimming over with

Cigarette butts, and Rainier cans

rolling around the floor.

The cab was a smoke preserved museum.

A smell which is strangely comforting.

a flashback to trips,

In the family station wagon

( Griswold ).

Mom and Dad chain smoking

In the front.

In the middle my siblings

seat belt free playing twenty questions.

I always hid in the far back

suitcases my fortress,

a book my sword.

The family was whole

and we kids felt Immortal.

Sunday, December 3, 2017

Everybody dies but some times they don't leave

The Empty space,

where my departed

loved ones were,

follows me around.

The emptiness

is a heavy weight

Wednesday, November 22, 2017

Vengeful Ghosts

Last night I dreamed
The ghosts of Geronimo
and Teddy Roosevelt
hunted El Presidente
Through the halls of La Casa Blanca
to the beat

of a Thousand Drums .