Personal and Favorite Writings


Reflections on Losing Sight


The Crossing

The curb cut beckons,
Gently guiding tremulous feet,
To its pitted bank,
The coursing currents of steel,
Respectfully stanch their course,
The scout calls out, "All clear!"
She steps upon asphalt shoals,
Fording her way across,
Debarking on the opposite shore.
The dam swings free.
The currents leap forth,
She whispers a silent prayer,
At this private Rubicon.



The majestic amphitheater waits
As the sun sets on her empire
Footlights unreplaced as the final performance looms,
Backdrops fade, the supporting cast strains
To avoid stumbling on set pieces
Laminated with dust of bygone years,
They bravely recite their lines.
Their performances soon retired,
To playbills of time and memory.
She eagerly anticipates rescue
By an unknown, merciful angel
Bringing regeneration and renewal.


Helios - The Sun

Your bold, shining eminence,
Bows my head,
Portals of recognition slam shut,
But slivers of your aroma,
Permeate tissues of consciousness,
So impossible to ignore.
I make painful supplications,
As you inexorably ravage,
The landscape of my soul.
Yet the course of years,
Reduces your lustrous mien,
Our black holes will intersect.
As the trajectories of courses collide.
At an unmarked way station,
On the orbit of time.


The Procession

The regal monarch,
Cuts a wide swath,
As her steely bodyguard
Paves her way.
The passing crowd stares,
Eyes salute and lids curtsy,
In curiosity and awe.
As they skitter aside to make way,
She smiles with a gentle affirmation,
Of their sympathetic regard,
Walking a path well trodden,
Yet unknown to her loyal subjects.



Like a creeping nebula,
Your stellate presence,
Creeps over my sun.
Creating an eclipse,
Diminishing lumenescence.
The faint corona signals.
That all is not lost,
Sometime soon,
This too shall pass.


White Cane

She spreads her new appendage
As an archeopterex lifts its wings
An extra limb embraced to relieve
The phantom pain of unplugged sockets
New metal dendrites generate
Surrogate rods and cones,
Creating an transmorphed network
Of optical/skeletal fiber
Backbone of this new
Information superhighway.


Written concerning my mother's last month with Alzheimers' Disease.


The Last Gift

We keep a silent Yuletide vigil,
Alone in the dark paneled den,
Your soft blank eyes,
Vainly search my bitter repose.
The televised Mass proceeds,
As the choirs joyfully celebrate,
The birth of a new hope for mankind.
A slow tender smile of cognition lights your face,
Your memory entangled,
In a distant forest of felled pines,
Struggles to join these angelic voices.
With a look of secret triumph you glance my way,
As you offer one last gift of maternal love,
By uttering my name for the final time.


Written about the children cared for by "Mama Tina", Christina Noble


Ulan Bator


Children huddle in fetid sewers,
No room for them in our inns,
No Magi or star to guide them.
In this lonely, skyless world.
Swaddled in dripping refuse,
Cradled in the arthritic arms.
Of ancient pipes and cisterns.
Stunted ghosts of childhood denied.
The silence is broken for a moment,
By the lowing gnash of rodent teeth,
And the whimper of a sleeping child, Dreaming of better worlds,
So near and yet so far.



Stolid, corporeal giant,
Eyes scamper for sanctuary
From vicissitudes of uncertainty,
Bravely offering the tithe of his heart,
Seeking ablutions for Its unhealed open scars.