‘twas never my intent 
to be gone so long
when will new words 
be added to my song
‘twas years I last walked 
this wanderin’ way
followed faint trails 
‘twere never seen by day

advancin’ years can never 
lessen these my dreams
placed bridges across 
those oft misted streams
o'er which must advance 
towards my return
to that resting place 
for which I ever yearn


they have been friends of mine these many years
often they came from somewhere deep inside
welling up as water released like tears
rivulets of thought o’er blank sheets they’d slide
much as if they played with their own beauty
we cannot live without words nor want to
a sword to use against our enemy
people are learning yet all this is new
often borrowing words from Cervantes
allows me to tell of this wondrous place
knowing words is not always knowing thoughts
most happy while held in their warm embrace
worn by elusive words I would master
if I sleep tomorrow will come faster


               Well, anyway,
I was reading this James Bond book,
and right away
I realized that like most books,
it had too many words.

The plot was the same one that
all James Bond books have:
An evil person tries to blow up the world,
but James Bond kills him
and his henchmen
and makes love to several attractive women.
There, that’s it: 24 words.
But the guy who wrote the book
took *thousands* of words to say it.

Or consider “The Brothers Karamazov”,
by the famous Russian alcoholic
Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
It’s about these two brothers who kill their father.
Or maybe only one of them kills the father.
It’s impossible to tell because
what they mostly do is talk
for nearly a thousand pages.

If all Russians talk
as much as the Karamazovs did,
I don’t see how they found time
to become a major world power.

I’m told that Dostoyevsky wrote
“The Brothers Karamazov” to raise
the question of whether there is a God.
So why didn’t he just come right out
and say: “Is there a God?
It sure beats the heck out of me.”

Other famous works could easily
have been summarized in a few words:

* “Moby Dick” — Don’t mess around
with large whales because they
symbolize nature and will kill you.

* “A Tale of Two Cities”
— French people are crazy.

                               — Dave Barry


my words have garnered response from another
uncounted miles lie between, so where to now?
an emotional tsunami raging across a bleak sea

silent screams drowning out my frantic plea
all this while I continue to be amazed at how
my words have garnered response from another

unexpected acknowledgement from this other
brings a tense wrinkling to my fevered brow
an emotional tsunami raging across a bleak sea

a roiling darkness through which I yearn to see
a single glimpse inside those thoughts tell how
my words have garnered response from another

whose outreach I fear that I am fated to smother
should anything worse than empty words follow
an emotional tsunami raging across a bleak sea

bringing more unwarranted emotions that bother
this hint of forbidden thoughts I should never allow
my words have garnered response from another
an emotional tsunami raging across a bleak sea


should truth be known I like playing with words

an obscure meaning fills me with delight

push a subject from one sentence to another

hide meanings beneath senseless passages

punctuation serves no useful purpose

where vague innuendos support metaphors

lend credence where none can be expected

I feel great joy using twisted definitions

probably most readily explained with glee

circumspectly circumnavigating reality


once my words burned brightly

cheerful flames dancing figures

then my living took me far away

in my haste I failed to bank my fire

now my days are spent sifting ashes

seeking for just one elusive spark

to help rekindle those dancing flames

crying lines: a sestina

I must needs write this sestina
wasting countless reams of paper
scratching out aching words to find
my way to carry forward on this journey
a simple vessel that should never impede
these crying lines inked ‘specially for you

senseless sentences directed towards you
I struggle while writing yet another sestina
refusing to yield to thoughts that impede
my vagrant scratching across this paper
setting out heedlessly upon this journey
that takes me ever towards what I find

I must have in order to finally find
that gift of gifts ‘specially for you
if it is to be found along this journey
that will ever hold me through my sestina
a timeless pursuit of words upon paper
thoughts on top of thoughts impede

while yet I refuse to let them impede
my progress toward what I hope to find
with each drop blotted from this paper
bearing these lines inked especially to you
lines that have compelled writing this sestina
should we ever embark upon this journey

that may some day become our final journey
together should nothing ever dare impede
these words as they slowly form my sestina
allowing at long last to finally find
those lines I’ve been trying to give you
they’re in my heart not on this paper

words that must never land on paper
I look forward to sharing this journey
I tremble while scrawling these lines to you
hoping against all odds nothing can impede
my desire to achieve that end I find
I must needs write yet another sestina

lest faded paper should your trek impede
this fruitless journey it seems that to find
what I’ve written you must read this sestina

New Theme

please be patient with me

my theme became so dull

I felt it would surely benefit

my feeble efforts with words

to try yet another outlook

hopefully this new theme

helps add another chapter

maybe eke out a few more lines

pull some long lost words

out of that hidden realm

where thoughts go to hide




I must so admit
I have been idle
for several weeks
written not a whit
quill became blunted
words stood evasive
bled like my title

I must so admit
will not let ennui
ruin my days my nights
writing bit by bit
quill no more blunted
thoughts less evasive
shall rule my title