Confessions of a Story Teller

I am a thief, a stealer of moments in time.

I am a hoarder, clutching those moments

’til released in absolution.

I am a killer; sometimes someone has to die.

It’s nothing personal.

I am a masseur; stories improve with

pressure applied here and there.

(Stories are more malleable than they think.)

I am a liar; that fictional character

Is more real than I admit.

I am an exhibitionist; my words

reveal the innards of my soul.

I am a voyeur; your private moments

bounce around my brain until your story is,

at long last,






All the breaths passing into a void a universe wideAstronaut-in-space-300x225

leave the stranger groping for home.

Sun-starred recognition in the timeless allness

comes hard by — and the airs are alone.

But a soul with a mind finds the faint

suction of destiny and follows the angels home.




Photo by Wonderlane

Autumn Wind

Whispering “I Love You” it passes on.

A few leaves lie remembering,

colored like finished salmon having

lived and grown so much.

Drying veins curling into a

smile that tells of the first kiss,

or of the shyness of two

among lake-reflected stars;

These once dance living veins are

scattered by a freshened wind,

a pure sweet wind.


A romantic man writes of the breeze

as being enriched by the breath of beauty.

A common man might say it borrowed a spirit.

But me — I don’t know what

it was that just swept by. It never said.

But the grass, though browning at its passing,

promises to be greener next Spring.




Photo credit: By eCamp (Own work), via Wikimedia Commons

All Bright Summer Days

All bright summer days, days of heat

and chrome glare, and splashes,

and crystal stars shining a brief eon

above joyous water; then I was

a dancer stopped spinning to leap.

All was felt and deepest portrayed.


I, young, breathed the hot

benches and joyous laughter, and shrill

decibels, and shapely forms, and the

communal click of new cards on hot pavement.

I, like soul’s gourmet, breathed heavy,

and whispered with eyes but to my kind.


Above me went stuffing from

an over-fat chair exploding and

falling — before the sun goes hope.

I envisioned H.G. Wells and green skies

and auburn suns, and soulsome spheres.

Even around me lay, undreamt, sands

as blue as summer water.




file000664689877Why Do We Love the Water So? 

When I gaze into your ageless eyes,

I remember the times we were together,

When your blue-green eyes

Matched the color of our skin,

And the azure water in which we swam.


I smile when I hear star-struck lovers

Oohing and aahing over their time

Together as soul mates:

It’s that instant attraction

They can explain no other way.

But if there are soul mates,

Need they be human?


I sense we have swum these waters before,

Webbed-paw to paw, strong legs to strong legs.

But I also know, this is not that time.

We are not frogs, and perhaps we never were.


But as we go our separate ways, I have to wonder

Why it is we love the water so.