Home   |   FICTION   |   PROSE POETRY   |   ESSAYS  


Since the first ambition I had for publishing was on a platform like this I've listed many efforts over the years. There's nothing to hide. A few I am, if not ashamed of, wary of. "Oh brother, you can do so much better!" But then we are human aren't we. I didn't view poetry as "entertainment" exactly but it has to enact well. That's all I insisted on and I didn't follow any proscribed way

NEW!

Picturing the Obscure Murder in the Meadow:1857

The Perfect Road

My Ocean

Ghosts

Maturing Poems

Wine Poems

2 New Poems

3 New Poems [anytime you see the Laughing Sun Ball click on it if you want to return to the poetry page.}


1975 - 1989

Poetry-in-the-Making

A Love Ditty

The season, ripe for love, waits now for the coming of youth.

They emerge down the side of a hill and disappear, between rocks, to a boat that is slipped on the embankment of a magical stream.

Their families are against them. The mother wails every evening and calls talk shows to complain about "young people today."

Continue

Copyright 2023 Sunoasis Publishing. All rights reserved.

  

POETRY BLOG

Science proves to me that life on the planet is very young; nearly nascent. That is, in relation to what it will be. The shadows have hardly formed yet. If we knew what went on for the next thousand years we would laugh and cry about it. We would be able to follow the thread to a certain point, the longer the better. However, we can never see the anomaly that will shake it all up. The small asteroid strike for instance that will challenge life to the root. Or, the connection with an intelligent, alien race somewhere. It never stays the same. We have the illusion that it stays forever the way we experience it, but that is quite wrong when you look at history.

Well, we are here in this little space. So be it. Let us make the best of it.

We are taken out to the great stars where we began.

Yet there are oceans and mountains. There is the body itself. There is the comfort of the rhythmic climates. And we love so much. We have surrendered so much. We have let go of so much.

* * * * * * * *

The Poetry Blog Archive