Looking towards the fall Thursday, Sep 17 2015 

The fleeting day and life cries

Turn back, turn back!

And ever onward turns the wheel.

The sinking sun will not, this day,

Rise again

And the words you should not have spoken echo.

Regret shades the night,

And heavy silence lies beneath the singing.

Do you keep it still in your grief

In hopes that tears will turn time around?

I say,

Look to the wild stars of the field.

They are the last

And they will not come again.

You missed the loveliness of the lilies;

But these sharp joyed moments

Are not yet lost.

Would you miss these too?

A fire of promise,

A fire of shame,

Chose on your turn.

August Sunday, Aug 23 2015 

Summer draws towards the last, rising crescendo

A fanfare of white stars:

The wood aster in its multitude beneath the dark trees

The flame pink phlox is a great bounty that arises from the garden

There is the scent of fire in the dawn air

When the hot days of August, the summer days

Foretell at their birth, the coming fall.

Fell the Future Wednesday, Jun 24 2015 

In this place there lies

A spark not yet crystalline

And shall it rise as living fire

Or hold fast as frozen stone?

None shall last past memory

And there will be no eternal place

But within the creating mind.

New England foundations Sunday, Jun 14 2015 

When the flowers rise

And the towers lie hidden

All is silver, green, and gold

What has been built will fall into time

And time passes into mystery

Somewhere the lilac speaks of it

The ancient peony blazes

A brief memory

That lives when stone has fallen

And the swords of the iris


Where once was man.


March wind Wednesday, Mar 18 2015 

When the wind came down

The trees walked the woods

Before the break of day

And barred the way of spring

With gates of shattered oak

Held to the earth by twisted elm

Their locks of blasted pine.

Sharp as the hunting spear

The sun’s blade splintered

A thousand shards of ice

Spinning across the snow


(a fragment…)


Fragments Tuesday, Mar 10 2015 

With dead gold
You gilded my tomb.
But I,
I escaped to the heedless earth
Where the spears
Of Spring’s eternal wealth
Pierce my breast
Embracing the soft flesh
Of my body’s flower

Connecticut town Monday, Feb 9 2015 

My kinship lies

Not with the shining valleys nor yet the mountain ranges

Where man, heroic, stands alone

The world before him in glory

Mine are the beaten hills

Rough as the boxer’s crown.

Take away your gleaming cities of neon

Stainless steel in the sun;

For mine are the cities

Fallen from their strength

Children of iron, black as coal on the snow

In my cities, living still,

Are the descendants of

That fighting Irish Italian breed

Crossed with the Yankee farmer.

Murphy’s Bar, Vinnie’s Pizza

Haunted by Ethan Frome

Who on his good days turns into Robert Frost

But no apologies.

Mine the farms where the fields have vanished

Ghosts of a dream betrayed by the dreamer

The white church on the hill

The weathered farm, ox and ass

The red mill by the river

And all fallen to the ruin

But enduring still.


December 31st 2014 Wednesday, Dec 31 2014 

December 31st, 2014: Julie’s Pond

The moon rose

In the shattered mirror

That held the somber pine

And westward still

Far past the prow of rock

The sun sank

Upon its final day

November night Saturday, Nov 8 2014 

The last cloud shattered light
Burnt out the hurrying leaves
From barren trees
All was fallen down to night

Suburban Scenes Sunday, Oct 26 2014 

The black cur

Was hunting the new turned fields

Strips of rich earth

Between the standing rows of corn

When he flushed the morning doves

Flying hard across the hedgerow

Where blazed all the colors of the fall.

It was a scene worthy of Bruegel

Had the old master ever known

The colors of a new world.

Yet I marveled more at the farmer’s faith

For he was planting winter rye.

And I knew that before the doves’ return

And the golden grain

There would be the bulldozers

Like monstrous city pigeons

Whose success is unrivalled

Even as they die.

The houses would rise from earth entombed.

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