Below you will find an easy-to-follow guide to everything I’ve published here since joining in November 2020. The most recent stories in each category will be at the top.
You’ll notice some stories will appear in multiple categories — politics and humor, for example — while others only appear in one. The whole idea behind this page is to make it easy for readers to find stories of interest on my profile page.
The categories are:
The Author’s Pick section includes stories and poems I feel strongly about sharing…
“And that’s the way it is . . .” — Walter Cronkite,
signing off the CBS Evening News, 1962–81
Readers of a certain age will recognize that iconic phrase as a cultural artifact born in a sociological milieu gone away forever, a time and place in U.S. history when the nightly news held a comforting sense of factual certainty and contextual reassurance. That calming ambience — partly illusory though it was — has since fragmented into an omnipresent environment of baseline doubt, reactionary mistrust, and accusatory malice.
Some of this antipathy toward those who would tell us how things are…
hear the ground sing,
feel nature bring
forth living things,
taste the earthy birthing
of silt and loam,
step through puddle-ooze
and fecund froth,
absorb sacred majesty
of ground’s holy worth,
and sink like faithful seeds
into the primal mud of oneness,
soul grinning, soles greeting
the desirous rib of complicated Adam,
the softer side of curious Eve.
Nothing says “Earth Day” like an earthy poem published in response to The POM’s writing challenge for National Poetry Month!
More poetry by this writer:
No one calls me daddy
or asks me questions about the way of things
as if I might actually have answers.
And the betting man in me
knows the odds of this ever happening
are getting longer. Time slips.
But when I hear a young mother
tell her brightly attired pre-school son
that “the thin kind is called neopolitan, Nathan,”
as she slides a slice across their two-person table
in this pleasant downtown pizzeria,
I dance another motionless dance
and restrain one more boundless smile
for every mother, every father,
every daughter, every son
daughters without daughters,
sons without sons
living our family moments
where we can find them —
That I am still sufficiently wowed
by a hummingbird
no bigger than a baby’s fist
perched for a pause
on a low branch
overhanging a cracked sidewalk
is a welcome sign
from above and within —
marveling at my own astonishment
at how the soft grace
of such a small creature
can uplift, fully support
and effortlessly overwhelm
an overweight man in his mid-fifties
out for an afternoon stroll.
More poems by this author:
There is movement inside the stillness,
perpetual motion in particles and waves
even as the force that temporarily propels
sputters, coughs, runs out
of metaphysical soul fuel
on the great interstellar highway of life.
There are worlds with lightspeed highways,
and worlds where access roads never got built.
Ours is a world where respected scientists
crunch numbers both madly and with precise focus,
bent on going somewhere new before it gets here first. …
The mood on the patio was hot, getting hotter by the moment.
“You listen to me and, listen good, Alton, man! ‘Overnight Meat Thaw’ is a stupid name for a band! Stupid, man! Like, really idiotic! I mean, like, what the effin’ ef, man? You cannot be serious!”
Gizmo Wahoo, the 47-year-old bass player and co-founder of the Freakerman-Wahoo Exponentials, was livid. He used his chipped Budweiser key chain to open another bottle of expensive imported beer, procured from Alton’s refrigerator.
Gizmo had not paid for any beer in the two months he’d known Alton Freakerman and the other guys…
Think about Spirit,
the Breath of Life inside us
share thoughts, breathe freely . . .
Everything becomes a verb eventually
and probably is to begin with.
It just takes some time to notice things,
and things are not always what they seem.
I’ve never trusted nouns,
their fuzzy specificity constantly blurred
by the moving picture that is Life,
the motion of action around and within.
To do, to be, to see, to free,
to witness it all again in unreal time
after preserving the procession of moments
with a convenience machine.
Everything behind us is frozen already,
except it’s not, it’s still accessible
as we turn toward the past,
almost timeless, almost out of time.