The Whisper

The Whisper

It touched me once

Upon my ear, just a peep

I flicked it away

And drifted back to sleep

Stronger it got

Come with me to the deep

Just take my hand

Here we’ll never weep


It’s not the best poem I’ve ever written. It may not even qualify as a poem, just a garbled gaggle of words. I don’t care. I wrote it in haste. I did so because my daughter woke up this morning to the fact that a friend of hers from high school, just nineteen, was so tired of living that he had hanged himself. A cousin of mine, someone I looked up to, took a gun and blew his brains out just past his fortieth birthday.

I am not writing this to judge or really to make any other kind of point. No one can know their pain. To do what they did, the pain must have been intolerable.

I just know I don’t understand it.

And I thank God for that lack of understanding.





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Who’s The Fool

Who’s the Fool

I saw a man face down

In his own drool

Man, that ain’t cool

A woman stands over him

His wife

Which one’s the fool

A shout out to mine

She’s a good one.



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How Did You Do?

How Did You Do?

The New Year’s Resolution. God, you have to love it.

One day happens, one event, now matter how long you live, about 1/365th of your life (okay, a little less depending on how long you live and when you die), and there is a promise in your life that is seldom there during the mundane days of the rest of the time.  Every year, almost all of us look to the new year  with promises that it will be better than the last.

Less eating.

Less drinking.

More working.

More writing.

More of whatever it is you deem you need in your life and less of what you deem as undesirable.

January 2, 2019.

The parties are over.

The hangovers should be gone.

Before you embark on this year’s resolutions, how did you do on last year’s.


Mine started with a bang and ended with a whimper. but my spirits lifted with time off around the holidays.

The new ones were just around the corner. Bold and as unstoppable as ever.



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Not What I Signed Up For

Not What I Signed Up For

Be Careful When You Drink

New Year’s Eve

The Party of the Year

Too much…everything

My mind in a swirl

All the dancing, the grinding

Oh, what a girl

My head still spinning

The morning after

As I fill my coffee cup

There’s that lady

Last night she rocked my world

God, she looks so hot

In my bathroom


Why is she peeing standing up?


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No Regrets

No Regrets


I hear people nearing the end of life say it.

I have no regrets.

The only way you have no regrets is if you’ve never lived.

Do you regret that moment you challenged Billy Bob to fight? Over a girl? And got the hell beat out you?

Do you regret that time you accepted the dare and ended up with a broken arm?

Do you regret the time you looked at her…and the saw the way she looked at you…and, like the Sirens of the sea, you couldn’t say no?

You were twenty then and full what they call piss and vinegar. Devil may care, but I don’t. Full speed ahead, damn the torpedoes.

You are eighty now, smarter in every way. A long life has taught you all you need to know about living a long life. It’s the only reason you are still alive.

If you were twenty again, would you slow down and be smarter? Would you take that curve a little slower? Would you back away from that little girl with the cute smile, the one who belonged to someone else?

Or would you do it again? Exactly the way you did it?’

The answer to that question is one you can only answer for yourself.

All I know is that I have many regrets, because I have made many mistakes, I haven’t been afraid of making mistakes. I have just gone in full speed ahead. Damn the torpedoes.

After many burned fingers and licked wounds, do I have regrets.

Hell, yes.

I have lived.


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Remember that time

When you were young

And stupid and dumb?

And your parents told you

Of things that were to come

How you just laughed

How do you feel now?

Stupid and dumb?



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How Many Nights

How Many Nights

     I was going to try and make this one of those cute little poems I toss out from time to time, the ones where I make some point that is only important to me and, hopefully, to anyone who knows what it’s like to write. Instead, I will just ask the question.

How much time do you devote to your craft? How much of the only thing in life you can’t get more of are you willing to spend on writing? Ten minutes a day? An hour? Six or twelve hours? How much?

Do you wake with the desire to make the perfect story, be it prose, poetry or song? Or maybe the perfect joke? It’s all writing. Everything I’ve just said is writing. How much of your time are willing to spend to make the story perfect? To make the reader understand exactly what you are trying to tell them?

God made you a writer. You can remember the exact moment you knew that was going to be the thing that dominated the rest of your life. It is your gift. Your curse. How much of your time do you spend on it?

We are writers. We are the only ones in the world who can hear someone utter the words.

I would do this for free.

Because, of course, all most all of us are doing this for free.

It’s a calling.

It’s a gift.

It’s a curse.

And we love it.






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Our Measure

Our Measure

Most of us measure ourselves based on what others think of us

When we are free of that burden

Happiness sets in


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Absolute Power

Absolute Power

We trick ourselves into believing that we are better than the men and women who are in the leadership role, the men and women who are really running things in this country. We criticize them for the things they do, for the things they are able to buy.

Who needs an airplane? Who needs a big, fancy mansion? Those bastards are selfish! Only thinking of themselves.  Why, if I had that kind of money, I wouldn’t waste in on myself! I’d help someone out. Someone less fortunate than me. I surely would.

Would you?

More to the point, did you?

We’ve all struggled to make ends meet. How hard was that? In the early days of your life, when you hadn’t climbed the ladder of success? To pay the bills. To buy the groceries. Before that big break through came, before that big promotion, how hard was it to just muddle through? An electric bill that was fifty percent higher than it was last month was enough to have you eating rice and potatoes at every meal because that’s all you could afford.

Things got better, though. Didn’t they get better? You made more money. You didn’t have to worry so much about making the ends meet. When the bill was due, you didn’t have to dig the change from the sofa to help pay the bill. Instead of wondering how you were going to pay the bills, you started planning for the future. You started planning for your future.

The house you were going to build, when you finally had the money.

The car you were going to buy, when you finally had the money.

The trips you were going to take, when you finally had the money.

Little thought of what you could do for those less fortunate than you.

I would help if only I had the money to help.

Why do the super rich have their own jet airplanes? Because they can.

Why do people who do not have their own jet airplanes bitch about people who have their own jet airplanes? Call them selfish? Call them…make up the name?

Because they can’t.

If you won the lottery, the Powerball tomorrow, a few hundred million in your bank account, set for life, what would you do with it? How much of it would go to help those less fortunate and how much of it would go to indulge yourself?

I am not judging. I would fail humanity on every level.

I would have my own jet airplane, not because I needed one.

Because I wanted one.

Oh, yeah. I’d give a few dollars here and there to the local churches, the Salvation Army, and do missionary work just to make myself feel better.

I do not judge you, my readers, in this scathing review of the human psyche, I judge myself. If I had more money than I could possibly spend, then I would throw a few crumbs to those less fortunate than me. Repeat, just to make myself feel better.


The heroes of the world do all they can regardless of their monetary status. A great many of them are technically poor simply because of the work they do.

They might tell you a different story of what rich and poor means.

Me? I just want a jet airplane.



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I Wonder

I Wonder

I sit and wonder sometimes

What am I supposed to do

What is my role in this thing

I wonder

Do you?


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