Tag Archives: Poetry

Strong Wind, Strange Soil

June 27, 2013

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Fresh rain pours into the face of the fishermen on the concrete dock dock beneath the great black sky of Wednesday here at the center of everything and nothing. It is one of those nights of storming from the West.

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Another Dinner, Another Downtown

June 16, 2013

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He keeps trying to negotiate with Fate, but she won’t return his calls. Does he even believe in her besides? Karma, more like it, which is, you know, something else entirely. He thinks, as he swirls the just-delivered cucumber-tequila, red salt-encrusted margarita, in a glass the shape of the letter ‘Y’.

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When the grass needs cutting

June 9, 2013


The grass needs cutting, it’s that damn season when the grass always needs cutting. Not to mention the spidery brown corpses of last year’s porch-side plants I still haven’t ripped out yet.

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Six Vignettes, One About Two Attorneys

May 22, 2013

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The well-heeled partners cruise by the brewpub window in their dark-blue sharkskin suits, or at least, suits I cannot afford. I’ve long admired their well-oiled hairdos. They must cost $500 an hour, these guys, what do I know. What do I cost?

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Pen, Paper and Indra’s Web

May 15, 2013

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I read the national award-winning poet to juice my cadences. Maybe to steal his stately, nutritious, languorous lines. For it has been months since a pen, a real ink pen, touched down upon the snowy lined plains of my journal.

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Poems Without a Book: ‘Harvest Time’

October 21, 2012


It serves no fruitful purpose to wax melancholic in your late middle years as rust-colored leaves drop, one by one by one by one, from the sycamores, the oaks and maples, and whatnot trees on this cold October morning.

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Song for the Patron Saints of Cappuccino

August 22, 2012

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In sweet coffeehouse sadness, we sit. We bemoaners and conjoiners, we well-outfitted outcasts of the digi-age. We brow-knitted worriers and patron saints of cappuccino.

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Notes for Dilettantes of the Digital Age

August 8, 2012

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There are cougars in these hills, high on slanted slopes, ranged with forests of matchstick-straight lodgepole pines. Places where few men and women, much less boys and girls, have been of late, if ever.

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A Few Moments With the Warrior in the Window

July 31, 2012

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There’s a warrior in the window. Some Chinese gift shop in South Charleston, West Virginia. I’ve just had my back adjusted down the street, because, well, shite, age happens. And there he is.

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Is this a poem? Or how to test spaghetti sauce

July 25, 2012

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If you declare some sequence of words a poem, is it a poem? Is the act, the declaration, sufficient?

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I Would Like to Formally Withdraw those ‘Dammits!’

December 22, 2011


Dammit Dammit Dammit. I say to myself, rounding the corner of a building on the Marshall University campus this morning espying my Honda. The sign of a hassle, flying its flag upon my windshield, a ticket.

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Six Variations on a Curve in the Road

December 19, 2011

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I have spent my adult life rounding curves in the road here in West by god or so they say Virginia. There are curves around most every curve here.

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A Few Poems from ‘Sprittling Secrets’

November 4, 2011

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A selection of poems from “Sprittling Secrets,” in the debut of “aFewPoems,” an occasional series on poetry found around the Village of WestVirginiaVille.

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I Got Nuts, Beef, Candy

November 2, 2011


Some nights, I drag home from the office with all good intentions. I’ll finally write that piece about my thoughts on Occupy Whatever. But then, I got nothin’. But I got pictures.

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Surely, she will pounce? Pounce will she?

November 2, 2011

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A found poem pounces out the morning e-mail box. Surely, it does. But now I’m not so sure how surely best to phrase it.

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Tips in case of my unexpected death

October 27, 2011


No open casket. If you weren’t around to see my face before the undertaker’s scary Silly Putty makeover, then I’m just saying. Google my name, say goodbye to one of those pictures of me. I looked a lot better back then.

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Raise up your brush! Brandish your pen!

September 14, 2011

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A curious, well-done, scrawled declaration intrigues the visitor passing a nook of an abandoned doorway along Summers Street in downtown Charleston, West Virginia.

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