Category Archives: Poems

The Origins of Longing

What is it about the beach and desire?
Surely not the oiled flesh of the self-important
who appropriated this particular piece
of real estate during an era
when Presidents and Princesses visited,
created a cottage industry for beefy college kids…

Birchsong Anthology

A semi-shameless plug for a new poetry anthology, “Birchsong, Poetry Centered in Vermont” which includes two of my poems but, more importantly, lots of terrific pieces by authors you know and many you may not.

The official website notes it …



In a coffee den
tucked under the hill
mugs anchor, fingers
click click on shining
MacBooks.  Beyond
the iron door icy
flakes whirl above

cobblestoned square,
small children spin,
then fall happy
in October winter
lost and found
in …

The thin line

It doesn’t take much to change a charmed existence and as 2012 (hopefully a much better year for the world) breathes its hot breath on this icy night, I reprise a poem about just that which originally appeared in Loch

Not that long ago…

It was summer.  So despite the October snow, I thought I’d bring back this midsummer ramble.


High Summer in the Upper Valley

There really is a Windy Blood Lane:
exit the pond on Potato Road,
forget the two pairs …

What I Wish I Knew at Twenty-One


We struggle to see the green flash;
in summer, sit patiently
on the gray deck at twilight
facing Cuttyhunk and her sister isles

as fog dissipates and navigation tower
emerges at the entrance to Newport Harbor
like some oversized …

Most Certainly Not Electronic

There is still some snow in the woods and hollows but it's definitely spring now. Still, a mailbox poem seemed in order in all this rain.

Thoughts about Mideast Oil in the last century…

The Laws of Supply and Demand

Even numbered days
of the month you?d be blessed,
but only if your plates

ended in 2, 4, 6 or 8,
the odd ones plangent
until the next day, stuck

perhaps, a self-stratified
civilization …

Three Mailbox Poems (for the end of 2010)

I. Beyond the Mailbox

This afternoon, nothing
stirs, save a vernal stream
convinced it is April instead
of November.  Lone blue jay
balances on a branch.  A few
scraggler leaves shiver
in the bare wind,
refuse to give in
like …

Stick Season Haikus

Hard mowed meadow still cattails mark pond. Outfall pours glass to river. Errant bumblebee tunnels inside through siding, she thinks it’s spring!