Oh beautiful for lethal skies, for somber waves of pain…
A Temple In The World
Bruised early, easily, that mangoed air…
Thomas Explains, Later on the Day of Pentecost
Make what you think you want of this…
The Sleep Cycle
So I’m waiting at the border, to cross…
The Prodigal at Home
This was when Mark was in America…
That Summer Light
Like Joshua, I would stall this falling sun…
Counting Perhaps
One perhaps and two perhaps,
three perhaps and four.
It’s just a few decisions,
and there’s always another door.
Five perhaps and six perhaps;
seven perhaps and eight—
in time you have a bushel
and it’s hard to keep them straight.
Nine and maybe ten perhaps,
don’t know how many more—
more, ten, nine perhaps,
but who is keeping score?
Eight—remember eight perhaps?—
and seven was a lot.
Six was even-steven,
five was handy, four was hot.
Three was getting underway,
and two just seemed like fun.
It’s fun to toss and drop perhaps,
and now we’re back to one.
First published in Third Wednesday, Vol. XI, No.4, Fall 2018
Mr. Adams’s Breakfast Thoughts
Henry awoke in the
third person singular,
toyed with his cafe au
lait in Montmartre,
wondering, idly, what
Henry should add to his
already copious
jottings on Chartres.
First published in Light, A Quarterly of Light Verse, No. 47, Winter, 2004-2005
Long Before Mr. Ed
Caesar’s intractable
grandson, Caligula,
skewered the Senate
with little remorse.
Cal (for new heights in
effrontery) up and
appointed the first
senatorial horse!
First published in Light, A Quarterly of Light Verse, No. 46, Autumn, 2004
