The Horseman


Stocky and solidly built
The wide brimmed hat shading
His weathered face from the mid-day sun

A man of 86
Not one to mince words
Requesting one last ride before he kicks off

“I was practically born on one of these”
A longing in his eyes
He recounts distant memories
A log cabin in the Western Nevada mountains
An uncle raising horses

In the saddle now,
He guides the horse around the corral
A mischievous grin spreading across his face



Pour your emotion onto the floor.

When you no longer look with forlorn eyes

you will see hope.

Morning on Cobscook Bay

Chronicles of a Wandering Marshmellow, Poetry

Low tide renders towering conifers and the rocky shoreline

as an oil painting on the still water

Crabs scuttle over rust colored seaweed

that pops in the morning sun

Red Pepper


The news was too much to bear

She sobbed freely inside
the open window of the brick tenement

The old man beside her, 
his emotionless face creased 
and browned from the sun,
stared at his smoldering cigarette

The sounds of life’s ceaseless rhythm
swirled around them

Half a red pepper lay on the sill