Point Loma from NAS North Island, CA. 1986 Photo Credit: Will Pennington My business trip with the Navy to San Diego last week was like going home. The joy began when, while riding the bus to the rental car center, I spotted the USS Carl Vinson — my last ship — tied up at North Island. Ohh, the memories. USS Carl Vinson (CVN-70). Photo Credit: US Navy/Mass Communication Specialist … Continue reading San Diego: Almost Home
I wonder why, after all this time has passed, I still find the need to write of you. Your voice has faded and your face has dimmed into an outline, but when I concentrate, I see you clearly though for less than the blink of an eye. Not long after we parted and I returned to my own land, I walked past an orange grove … Continue reading Susanna XII, A Prose Poem
Pressed against glass, face down, born again in the cloud. Another memory retained for…what? “Marianne loves Bobby. 12th Grade. 17 Years old.” That lasted nine months before ending in bruises, abortion, and divorce. Yet, the photos remain, reminders of erstwhile lovers and friends, a past suffused in shade. Sadness the emotion as album pages flutter by, the memories that began in happiness later viewed from … Continue reading Honey
What began in fellowship of open arms, broad smiles and welcoming words soon fell into routine. The wonder of the inchworm’s humped-back crawl faded as attention drifted elsewhere. Like a prairie dog village, heads sank into oblivious existence as curiosity waned. \ I could not describe the Bavarian village, framed by towering Alpine mountains and last seen as a child, well-enough so you’d know it … Continue reading The Filing Cabinet. And a Poem
My first attempt at Haibun. I often dream of living in a cabin in the woods. Handed the chance to live life over again, I would choose a career as a Forest Ranger, managing forests, assisting people who understand them, teaching those who don’t. Look now through my eyes How vision winds endlessly Look there! Do you see? I always felt I was born two-hundred … Continue reading Wanderlust – Haibun
You left me in darkness when you went away. Even now, light dims when I think of you. I’m left with the nearly eternal absence of light because my thoughts are of you between the dawn and dusk of day. I am most alive when I dream of you for dreams are of what we were and what we should have been. The sun rises and shares … Continue reading One
I wish there were more moments to recall, the ones that show us naked and afraid. Instead, I recall our time together as projections of idealized portraits, retouched and photo-shopped by minds unable to bear the sharp edges and blunt-force trauma that lovers stumble through along the boulder-strewn road of romance. I don’t want to recall only the good moments but the ungood moments too, but maybe it’s better that … Continue reading Of Love and Memories
When I was twelve or so, Dad told me to get off my derrière and earn some money. So, I started pushing the lawn mower around the neighborhood. Thankfully, since we had a corner lot, he’d bought one of those new fangled self-propelled machines. It made it easier, but no less tedious, to mow that forty thousand acre yard in the hot Tampa summer. And … Continue reading Tampa Boy’s First Job
She dances without moving Sails billow without wind Cannons, crossed, are silent Ship’s anchor is aweigh Inked in black, his life Forever tattooed in my mind. Continue reading The Sailor
The house I wrote of yesterday stayed with me all day; I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I had intended a completely different point, about how we tear people down much easier than we build them up – people we disagree with, for example. We’ll stand in line to pick people apart for their flaws and shortcomings, their tastes, their politics, their looks. … Continue reading Home. All of Them
The old, old house stands brooding, silent, empty, shuttered. Peeling paint, peeling memories, peeling years, decaying. Squeaking gate unhinged, cracked stone steps, black holes gape between them, Give way to wild rose and dandelions, crabgrass, spurge and apples. Skinned shins on broken porch boards; cobwebs make me shrink. Ancient knocker of green-tinged brass, dolphins dancing on their tails. Quiet the knocker, there’s no one home, … Continue reading Home. With me.
“This is an essay Sam wrote after Susanna died. I asked him if I could keep it as a reminder of the two of them. He asked me not to share it, but he would have wanted you to read it. This is how they were, the way they acted with each other. Sam didn’t glamorize their relationship; he described it perfectly. I’ll read it … Continue reading The Love of Sam and Susanna
Whisper wisp, O Soft and lithe, so Fragile, frail, a Sense, a Sense; Fleet, fly, O Whither gone? But, Always away, a Day, a Day. Continue reading Whisper Wisp, O
My faith in humanity was crushed at the young age of fifteen when my beloved ten-speed racer, for which I saved all summer my lawn mowing and busboy earnings, was stolen from behind the Village Inn Pancake House while I bussed tables. Whoever stole my bike must have needed it badly since they cut the thick chain that secured it to the old oak tree … Continue reading Gleaming Brown Racer
I wonder what kids, when they become adults and recall their youth, will remember? Will they recall the hours spent gazing at smartphones while riding their bikes, waiting for the school bus, dining out with their parents? I can’t imagine spending on a smartphone all the time I spent reading as a kid, playing in the woods, swimming in the pond, fishing the river with … Continue reading Remember
Dreams are bad news. Good dreams or bad dreams, it doesn’t matter. When you awaken you are the same person, only sadder. You wake with less happiness, less hope than before you laid your head on the pillow and closed your eyes and sleep took you to that place you yearn for but hate with hot tears when your eyes open again. The place you … Continue reading Dreams
*Third line of each stanza is read rapidly without pause. Smiles are bright on brown faces I have known, eyes crinkled against the sun; Home is a shack with thatch for a roof and a barrel that caches the rain as it runs; An old woman sifts rice in the shade of acacia as her husband and sons fish from a boat not far from … Continue reading Lamao Limay
Susanna plucked a shrimp from the paper cone clutched in my hand and held it over my head like a seal trainer. She laughed as I leaned back and opened my mouth. I struggled not to laugh as I wagged my tongue. She brought the shrimp to my mouth and I captured her long, graceful fingers between my lips. She hesitated and gazed at me … Continue reading Susanna Avila III
Your appearance The first time Ever I saw you, Startled me, so unexpected, The sight of you left me Speechless, Dumb, tongue-tied; I could not form a sentence. How long Before breath returned, Before I could close my mouth, Smile, Say hello, Not stand like a dolt, Stupefied, but Function like a sentient being? My mind, Flush with thought, Behind my face, Red with embarrassment. … Continue reading Tongue-Tied
The morning temperature of fifty-nine degrees represents a departure from the norm in Southern Maryland. Typically, it’s warm and humid, and folks look forward to another day of oppressive Mid-Atlantic heat. However, I will enjoy the comfortable weather since Mother Nature has a sense of humor and may send the temperature back to normal, or even higher, tomorrow. The cooler weather reminds me autumn is around … Continue reading Seasons
I didn’t know what cutoffs were until I moved to Tampa, Florida with my family after living in Holland for three years. My next door neighbor, Terry Parrish, a boy three years older than my seven years, walked over to me on our first day at the new house while I helped dad unload the car of suitcases, the old beat-up red metal cooler with … Continue reading The Red Metal Cooler
Writers Envy 