I was in my twenties when I acquired my first saxophone. It was a high school band hand-me-down from my college roommate. If there was anything spiritual about the gift it was lost in the basement echoes of me puffing my cheeks and moving my fingers. I remember the C…

I was nervous. The clock on the wall tapped out sixty beats per minute. Sixty BPM seemed a racing speed on the metronome anytime I practice my saxophone; now it ticked like a swinging Sword of Damocles over my head. It’s audition night for a new band in a new…

a poem about essentials

a poem about weak ending strong…

a poem about waiting for weightlessness to heal grief A Lifeguard Squints to Read Another grey day breaks against the coast. Shadowed seals bark as slips of white foam sink into the sand. The ache of hauling driftwood, in full view of the forest, fills my lungs like a fog. The beach, empty…

a poem about retreating in advance of ideas A morning crew man suspended by helicopter cables resembles an overhead cow. This woodland retreat no longer features a respite from political machines. A hired leaf blower rips a two stroke engine to tidy the off season patio. It’s election eve…

or what if poetry is a game show with no host? I sought professional help. I suspect some of you wondered what took so long, but admitting I need therapy more than careful editing took some doing. Had to look in the mirror with the lights on and realize I’ve…

an essay on process and prayer SSubmittable as unto the Lord Poets write for intimate strangers. The editors of literary magazines presume to know us when asking for poems for their magazines and then assume they know what our readers prefer to read. It’s a highly subjective process and when you…

a blog about unlocking the prison within I’m going back to prison and I can hardly wait. It’s been fifteen months since I was inside the State of California’s version of the Pearly Gates. Pandemic protocols are relaxing to allow volunteers, such as myself, to meet with the inmates. I’ve…