Thank you to everyone who stopped by the blog this year. I appreciate the hits, likes, and comments. This is a project I do to make sure that I don’t quit writing and I find that it has become a “must” in life that challenges me to be consistent and persistent as the days continue on.

So thank you for your support…

2017 proved to be the best year visitor-wise for the blog. My kids love the stats… 2018 will bring a big change. There will still be poetry, photography, and the occasional rant, but my daughter has challenged me to write a year-long story.

I’ve accepted her challenge and I’m working feverishly to outline a story of 365-entries (poems and prose). The goal is for each poem to stand alone and to work within the plot a verse novel. Hopefully, it will work, but the whole blogging thing is just a journey, right?

Anyway, looking forward to your comments next year and hope that your creative endeavors prove fruitful.


there are surprises
when growing up.
some things never change, though.

people find the faults,
look to lay blame,
find reasons in others
for the short comings
of what they’ve sown.

oh well, hope survives,
optimism touts happiness,
neither doing well.

How great would life be
Without advertising?
No stupid commercials,
No dumb slogans,
Just the strength of a product’s rep
Sans the Jedi mind tricks.
Man, how I wish,
As I watch two meatheads in bad sweaters
Make me make a mental note
To not switch cell phone carriers,
BOGO, that, yo…
And here’s one of a guy chewing gum,
During a bank robbery no less,
And hitting on a girl
Who seems so impressed by his…
Choice of gum?
Finally, Dos Equis, the comedian is not funny,
The ads are no longer the most interesting.

Just sayin’…

That’s what corners are meant to be

Hey, Mom, that’s “turned”
In your old school grammer-way

Nothing green,
One week if I swallowing expensive meds,
Seven days without.
All is well.

Not seeking sympathy,
Only complaining on Christmas Eve
As the clutches of pulmonary vice grips
Refuse to let go of my lungs.
Instead the air bags are choked with phlegm
And an inability to take full breaths
Without the consequence of a burning hack.
What air remains after Tyson like body blows,
Seeps out producing the sounds of a deflating bagpipe
Deep inside my chest.

To my friend and mentor John Helion
A long overdue thank you and congrats,

Dr. Sanford Lopater, someone from my undergrad, one said,
“You’ll be lucky if you have one or two professors
You relate to in college.”
He was right and wrong
He was one,
You were one of the others,
The unmentioned being a spunky Health teacher.

Tonight I drove past your house thinking of old times,
Like Hindu tag and Jack being nimble or late,
Like hanging at the ropes course having deep conversations about PE,
And watching you fall asleep in Denver with a book perfectly perched
On your chest.
Each of those images brought a smile to my face
Because you are the man
Who made whatever I have become happen.
There is something about the way you think,
It’s in its custard of possibility
That has stuck with me all these years.
Whether it was the conversations about teaching up North,
Old ladies doing laps at Columbia, or just your cackle,
All stuck with me with a genius that personifies authenticity
And the true nature of what it means to be a teacher.

Forget all of the professional mumbo jumbo,
ALT-PE, time on task, cross-curricular integration,
Each of those pales in the shadow of who you have been to me,

My teacher.

You taught me how to understand the importance of preparation.
You taught me how to understand there is more to life than the profession.
You taught me what it means to have perspective,
That debate is more than just disagreement, that it’s necessary,
That laughter does not have to be personal,
And that a strength of character is all we really have.

Thank you, my teacher.

So on this night
When I spent too much time at the Side Bar
And made the trip on New and 926 for the who knows what thousandth time,
Thank you, John, for being the teacher than you have been,
I owe you my career.
No go listen to some Clapton,
Start with “Hello, My Old Friend.”