My Words

Understanding the World through words

Memorial Day 2016-poem

The live oaks are green
almost impervious to drought—
My kids are alive,
swimming in a resort pool
while I watch them
scream with glee.
The grey squirrel almost blue
running up and down the seasoned tree
showing off for a gallery of kids.
Excited, ecstatic, joyous
“Look at the squirrel.”
If those who paid the ultimate price
could see what I see,
Perhaps they’d say
it’s a price worth giving…
While the living celebrate life
on another Memorial Day—
and the live oaks continue
to grow green leaves.





We are messy campers

Our campground isn’t littered.

It’s just that everyone around me

except one neighbor have new rigs,

new trucks, large and expensive toys.

I have a 70’s pop up that I love.

It’s constantly needing attention.

Yesterday, I sewed the netting.

The door doesn’t close right.

The color is faded.

My daughter’s boyfriend Nic

Said, “it was camping swag.”

Like me, he loves it.

My neighbor has

a 70’s camper too.

When I saw his, I loved it.

I told her, “your camper’s cool.”

I finally got the the door fixed.

That got Nic -oohing-

I improved my camping experience

by a margin of twenty.

Even my wife said with a smile and hug,

“I’ll give you a little treat.”

I bet my neighbors don’t get that

kind of attention,

all their toys work fine.

Morning stretch-poem

I turned over this morning
to readjust.
Woke myself up.
My wife is getting ready in the bathroom.
I stretch and yawn.
Good morning babe.
“Good morning,” comes the response.
“I’m heading out,” she says.
Come here and give me a kiss.
I’m still in a morning daze.
She leans over and gives me a kiss
I grab her
playfully fondle her.
She leaves.
I turn around, close my eyes
and go back to sleep.


Photography captures the moment,
the click click of the shutter.
Behind the veil–
It’s a drama between two actors:

1. Framing our visual experience.
2. The complexity of seizing that elusive light.

My fingernails are clean-poem

I poured a bath
not too hot
squeezed a little
shower gel into it.
Squeezed myself
into the tub.
I Scrubbed my body
until it lathered then I
dunked myself into the water.
Like you dunk a donut
into coffee,
until my fingernails are clean.

Open and Close-poem

Another door closes
I saw it coming,
happy for it.
There’s nothing’s worse than
treading in the mud
without a way out.
I have direction.
I have a future.
Another door will open
It always does.

We Wrestle-Poem

I Went to a wrestling tournament with my sons.
They’ve been working hard
with skills and staying fit.
They wrestled hard:
won some,
lost some.

me: a nervous wreck
I believe in my kids.
I want to see them succeed.

But then
I wrestle with myself
I wrestle in my head
I wrestle with words
I wrestle with getting up
at 4:30 AM to go to my job.

In the end,
we all wrestle,
even with death.

That’s why wrestling
is a great sport and
perfect human metaphor.

What you love-poem

If you’re not doing
what you love—
stop, breath,
and reassess.
It’s never too late.
No one pays you enough
to lose your dreams.
Employers don’t care if
you’re a poet,
or painter.
If you don’t care enough
to pursue your dreams,
what your giftings are?
No one will.


We are always trying
to hide our imperfections
but those are the things
that make us unique.
Our idiosyncrasies,
our ugly faults,
make us human.
And let’s face it,
in the end,
that’s who we are.

7 Point 62×39-poem

If love were bullets,
I’d be an AK.
You can throw it
in the mud and
it will still shoot.
The 7 point 62×39
shreds shit apart.
If love doesn’t kill
it leaves you maimed.