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when the wheels come off…

We are not perfect. Perhaps only an experiment doomed to failure.

Read Between the Minds

i cannot sleep
i hear
the night drums
my head
waking me
cold sweat
envelopes my body
in a shroud
a civil war
is about
once again
blood soaked
will fill the gutters
hate and intolerance
a nation
ancient prophecies
the dead
will not rise
will the meek
the ravaged earth
they shall be
all shall be
the roadkill
man’s accelerated

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July 15, 2018 at 9:34 pm Leave a comment

the twitter diet…

Could that be called ‘false news’?

Read Between the Minds

lies and alibis
seem to be served up daily
a white house cuisine

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July 15, 2018 at 9:24 pm Leave a comment

June 16

This is a blog I have been following for years. Enjoy.


a bird picks at gravel
under the grape vines

they are producing this year
green-hued pearls

small and bitter
nothing much

but grit and potential
the birds won’t touch them

shrieking away
in a burnt out pine

the violence of nature
is arbitrary

unlike ours
familias unidas no dividadas


and when they were departed behold the angel of the Lord appeareth to Joseph in a dream saying arise and take the young child and his mother and flee to Egypt
when he arose he took the young child and his mother by night and departed into Egypt

now the LORD had said unto Abram get thee out of thy county
and Abram went down into Egypt to sojourn there for famine was grievous in the land

thou shalt neither vex a stranger nor oppress him for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt
if a stranger sojourn with…

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June 19, 2018 at 7:34 pm 1 comment

When to Say Goodbye

Dog lovers will understand.

O at the Edges


When to Say Goodbye

 If all goes well it will never happen.
The dry grass in the shade whispers

while the vines crunch underfoot,
releasing a bitter odor. A year ago

I led my dog to his death, the third
in five years. How such counting

precedes affection, dwindles ever
so slowly, one star winking out after

another, till only the morning gray
hangs above us, solemn, indefinite.

Voiceless. If I could cock my head
to howl, who would understand? Not

one dog or three, neither mother nor
mentor, not my friend’s sister nor her

father and his nephews, the two boys
belted safely in the back seat. No.

I walk downhill and closer to the creek,
where the vines are still green.

In the shade of a large cedar, a turtle
slips into the water and eases away.

* * *

“When to Say Goodbye,” drafted during the…

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June 14, 2018 at 8:16 pm 1 comment

By The Book

Here is a person with thoughts that matter.

Elan Mudrow

I came from chaotic matter, unformed, unnamed, a forest of thought, discord, a region of unlikeness. But now I am formed, symmetrical, a language, a song, a poem, matter between skin, meanings I would like to think of as endowed with light. I did not arrive to this personage, this being, by accident. No. In order to sing, I needed to learn the ways of the rest, the pause, to experience tacet, to witness the great silence. Transformation.

At first, I tried what most try. I tried the easiest way to the mountain top. “But this was merely an excuse for my laziness; and where others had already reached a considerable height I was still wandering in the hollows” (Petrarch 13). Even the shortcuts were infested by challenges, trials, performances. These appeared to me as three animals. The spotted leopard or falseness, deceit, and camouflage, the lion, who is an…

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April 14, 2018 at 10:52 pm Leave a comment

The Writer


The Writer

An hour’s drive towards the mountains there is a lake. A quiet, beautiful place, almost like a Norwegian fjord. I use to go there to write, ever since I started writing in earnest. They now print my picture on back covers, so I reckon I am an earnest writer at last. The hefty advance I’d been paid for my second novel seems to support that theory.

Three months after my debut has been published I go back to school, and if only for one night. Just to see who got fat, who got married, and who else got famous during the last ten years.

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March 11, 2018 at 8:03 pm Leave a comment


Just wanted to tell you folks that the descriptions of the storm the east coast is now living though are more than accurate.

I have had a self-standing basket ball net at the end of my driveway for perhaps 25 years hoping one of my girls might enjoy the game. Neither one did, and although my youngest is 5’11”, she is a farmer.

I’m telling this because, for the first time, this hoop has blown down. The wind and snow could produce a wealth of poems, but for the common man, is it a hassle to be handled.

I hope to produce more for this blog, but a lesson for the young. If you want a career in writing; START NOW. Age had a tendency to slow you down.


March 2, 2018 at 11:15 pm 1 comment

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