After spending one-third of my life abroad, often in large cities, I have retired to small town coastal Oregon where I wander past creek, river, and forested hills, living a quiet life of contemplation.  I have recently had poems published in Ship of Fools, The Iconoclast, and Jerry Jazz Musician, among other places.​

A Toast


to the wind rushing pell mell 
downhill through tree and bush

to every rill reeling through forested valley
with a music wilder than the maddest fiddler's

to all the lasses and lads voices sailing with clouds 
their young legs sweeping through meadows thigh high in grass 

to every smile that made the heart jig swiftly 
and the mind think about staying for incalculable time

crook the elbow bend the wrist and bless 
them one and all with whatever blend suits your fancy.





Let Us Now Give Thanks For


the deer and hare, the fox
and crow, the wind
and rain, the thunder's roll,
the night in mist, the sweep
of snow, delicate balance
of the hurricane's eye, the cry
of the lark in the morning.




​
Departure


The damp petal lingers, adheres
to fingers;

I flick it
away, some of my flesh

clinging to its flight
into rough grass,

and I turn
to embrace the spring

wind in my face,
the long road ahead.

First published in Lilliput Review (mid-1990s).