Blog, Blog 2019, Prose Poetry

Chapbook Published (haibun and tanka prose)

Here it is. My first eChapbook available on Kindle. Thanks, Mary Ellen Gambutti and Jo-Anne Rosen for your help with getting this published. The book includes tanka prose and haibun written over the past two years. It’s been a long time coming but I think the timing is right. Wasn’t ready until now. Here’s the link.


https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07XF8XJ9B/ref=sr_1_4?keywords=fly+on+a+wall&qid=1567694547&s=digital-text&sr=1-4

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Blog, Blog 2019, May-Aug 2019, Prose Poetry

Winter’s Bitter Edge

The walking man studies the footprints he’s made in the freshly-fallen snow, footprints meandering back through time, back through time with his thoughts. There he finds a boy playing by a stream, happy as a boy can be. He walks over and says, “Hello.” The boy doesn’t hear. He wants to say “remember this” but all he can do is watch for a while as the child works his way along the bank and finally out of sight.

His thoughts lead back to a grassy field where a young man tosses hay bales onto a wagon. The man in the snow wants to shout “be careful” but again can only watch as the farm cart passes by. He knows the young man has no reason to listen to the wind. Turning up his collar, he shrugs away the cold.

Blowing snow is covering his tracks. He’s watching them fade away. He searches for what is left of her, her footprints in the snow. He wants to tell her “I’m sorry” but the footprints just aren’t there. The trail’s gone cold and he’s walking alone on his way back home in a blizzard.

recollections . . .
layers of settling dust
on the bookshelves
begin to obscure
the stories

Atlas Poetica #37

Blog, Blog 2019, May-Aug 2019, Prose Poetry

Fondly Ever After

we found each other
in that moment
breaking over the rails,
that moment that swept us
into the sea

If stumbling into misadventure is an art form then we mastered it long ago. Yes, time has passed, and yes, the distance between us is greater than ever. Still, I remember our love of music, our kindred affection for stories, and how we could cry together and laugh in almost a single breath. I can remember that day we danced to Zydeco for hours as the little time we had left together seemed to skip a beat. I remember our happiest moments as if they are happening now.

Were there warning signs? Who knows? What I do know is that the dream imploded as a result of its own design. What remains are simply fragments of that dream. Still, those fragments speak to me, defying the constraints of time. They speak to me of a vision that was, and will always be, a lighthouse on the island in my mind.

born of desire
I cast my net
into the reflection
you left in ripples
on the surface of the stream

Haibun Today, Volume 13, Number 2, June 2019