Coming Back To Life

New Smyrna Beach SunriseThere is something to be said for enduring, for passing through the crucibles and getting through the dark parts.

As the dawn begins to slowly wash away the darkness, the roll of the surf shimmers in the morning light. The water above refracts, bending the path of light to obscure more shadow.

You stand there, ankles in the water, wishing life were as easy as watching something push away the darkness for you.

It never happens that way.


Rainy Day

Monk in RainGetting up in the morning, rolling out of bed, finding everything to head out to the beach to take some morning photos… you can hear the rain slap the metal outside like a drummer with bad rhythm.

You go anyway.

Sometimes braving the rain gives you some great contrast shots – sometimes it gives you the muted colors of a sunrise through clouds and an empty beach, with no stray humans running into your frame, drawn as if moths to light. Sometimes you get the best shots this way, by going when no one else will.

And sometimes, like this morning, it’s just haze grey at the beach with the spray from the waves merged perfectly with the grey clouds – a harmony of monochrome that lacks any frame of reference.

Sometimes, it’s just a rainy day.

That’s more life than most people understand.

Some of us dare to get up every morning and go look.


The student, introduced
Learns silence and gets it
The clapping crowd silences
Harmony weeps in respect
The strings move
The strings stretch
The strings come to life
As is their nature.

Once in motion
They seek harmony
And find it only in
Calloused fingers
Steel tendons
And the unforceful hand
Of the master,
the Student.

dark hour

Even the best wishes can be discarded
At the target’s whim fickle
And even this can be pardoned
As autumn leaves resemble sickle.

Tiring efforts clutch at straws
To save every last one
Lost romance in a just cause
Just because it’s done.

And in the dark hour
The tallies and scores are counted
And though defeat tastes sour
Victory on either side is routed.

“To arms, to arms! Redeem fate!”,
Will cry those blind in dark hour
As light reveals and finds late
Barbarians guard the tower.

I remember you

Baby Blue DatsunYou used to
Warm my hands in water
Rub them for me when I
walked home from that
Convenience store
On Country Club Lane…

I used to dance with a mop,
Waiting to get home to you
And when everything was
Stocked, floors mopped
I would call…
We would talk.

You used to read my poems
I used to let you
You used to smile
Tell me they were good
And kiss me, or look
To my heart through eyes.

Driving around, we would
Hold hands, kiss at lights
And couldn’t wait to get
Home, to our home
To our room
Where we would warm.

Winter was never the same
I remember you
The cold became colder
I remember you
The wind cut deeper
I remember you.

And when that song plays…
I can’t forget you.
I don’t want to
It will never be again
But in the end


XXI Century IcarusQuietly he stands, cloaks his
Self-esteem about his shoulders…
Fledgling, uncomfortable, his wings
Bear his weight, he alights
At a table nearby to
Find company,
From one who might,
From one who may,
From one who’s laugh
Will let him stay.
That’s the trouble with wings.
They’re only good until you get there.

The Grand Canyon

TimeThere lies the division bell,
The line drawn where you think
You may not cross
Your eyes lost in the depths
Of the canyon you perceive.
In looking down, you
Forget to look across…
Stuck within the problem,
The question…
The answer, lost in the depth of question
Remains unanswered,
Solution lost
While your eyes


Broken FlowersSilently, a woman picks
Her fingers fleetingly across
A flower, eyes distant she
Hums an old love song
And waits for the wrinkles
Waits for the
Lines of time to mark her.
Her eyes are filled with
Lost lovers and fleeting romances
Puppy loves, high school dances
Giving it all away she never got
She always looked and
never sought.
Now her eyes leak lost lovers
Until they leak no more.


We talk around what I feel
As if it were a thorny bush –
Avoidance because we think
The fruits aren’t worth
The labor.

Grapes Of Wrath.
Seeded with discontent,
Fermented with only the
Finest resentment.

Tiring of talking in circles
All we can do is hold
Stay firm in who we are
And believe it’s not true
We, two.


cloudsayshiIn dim light you greet me
Strip me of my sensibility
And beat me with it.
You’re back again.

So many faces have you held
So many nights have we shared
So who are you
And what do you wish tonight?

Cold windy night in the Sunshine State
You may have felt the chill
If you do, if you don’t
I wish you never will…