If only the sky could contain you, I would sleep.

Instead I rise and limp through the fog to my shack.

Sip coffee, strum E-minor, arrange words. Listen.

The earth, too, considers you limitless.

Disassembling the chord note by note, I reminisce.

How the indistinct commits its magic.

Indirection, implication. Camouflage. The missing.

Fingers follow the path more readily than the eye.

If the flatted third disappears, what remains?

My body knows its beginning and suspects its end.

The first and the fifth inform our options.

Filling space, consuming time. Rationing pleasure.

I twist my hand, and ignoring the tendon, play the note.

Your last days concluded this vessel. I retain you.



My Poem “Scarecrow Sings the High Lonesome” Has Been Published in Crannóg 45


My poem, “Scarecrow Sings the High Lonesome,” has been published in the summer issue of  the Irish journal, Crannóg, available in printed form only. Alas, I was unable to attend the June 30 launch at the Crane Bar in Galway. Maybe next time!



Scarecrow Listens


Scarecrow Listens

These silences I hear, are they not
music? Interspersed with sunlight and
air flowing through fragrant grasses,
insects ticking in the leaves or burrowing
towards moist darkness, and my friends
cawing from their perches, if I arrange
their presence in sequence, perhaps
around the day’s bones, will you
know my spirit? And when I interweave
these tunes, independent and unrelated,
shaping them into one separate melody,
will you recognize its heart and shiver
to the beat? Ornette Coleman freed
his playing, celebrating the territories
of the unmeasurable, the unnamed. The
real is, no matter what you call it. Take
this leaf and place it atop three others.
What have you? And what am I if not
a gathering of the unwanted, scraps
melded to serve a thought-free purpose,
another’s need. Fleshless, boneless,
breathless, bloodless, I know only
that I am; having no ears, still I listen.

“Scarecrow Listens” first appeared with two companion pieces in Eclectica in summer 2016.



On Listening to Edgar Meyer



On Listening to Edgar Meyer

Smoke, and bent grass,
the earth rippling underfoot.
A child throwing stones
but never at random.
You wonder that one suggests
laughter, as a second draws tears.

Still, it drags you in.
Like water seeking its level,
a depression that must be fed.
You ride that deep current
never questioning its source,
complete in the moment. Filled.


Edgar Meyer’s music removes me from my body, transports me to another plane, one free of politicians and avarice, a place where truth matters. Today has been a good day to listen, to absorb. And hey, that fellow he’s playing with ain’t too shabby…

Ode to Being Placed on Hold



Ode to Being Placed on Hold

The music rarely
but I find
peace between
the notes,
and embrace
the notion that
I’ve been inserted
in that peculiar
capsule between
speech and the
void, imagining
myself somewhere,
floating, free
of care and
beer can
orbiting my head,
with bites of
pungent cheeses
and baguette
circling in
their wake,
a gift, you see,
like rain in
August or
a warm voice
saying hello.

“Ode to Being Placed on Hold” was written during the Tupelo Press 30-30 marathon in August 2015. Many thanks to Mary “marso” of the blog “marsowords” who sponsored and provided the title. The poem also appeared here in March 2016.





That it begins.
And like a wave which appears
only to lose itself

in dispersal, rising whole again
yet incomplete in all but
form, it returns.

Music. The true magic.

Each day the sun passes over the river,
bringing warmth to it. Such

devotion inspires movement: a cello in the
darkness, the passage of sparrows. Sighs.

The currents are of our own
making. If we listen do we also

hear? These bodies. These silent voices.

* * *

“Requiem” was written in the 80s, in response to a piece of music. It made its first appearance here in February 2015.