How many times have I said I’m through teasing myself, through pretending I don’t enjoy the wreath of a woman
Find the book and blow the dust off. It’s somewhere in the house.
It’s war plain and simple when I fill the feeder out in the sycamore with millet and niger
I was very small the day they bombed Pearl Harbor but I remember my mother dashing around the kitchen saying nothing to me
Walking very slowly, ancient Wall… right behind his ancient Molly who… stepping down the garden path, her first time out in weeks, wobbly still on her new knee.
Carnage rolls across the sand amid the silence of imams Women raped,
I was just a boy but I remember Hitler at the start and how too few understood his plan to
She walks the rack of bright frock… as her husband, an Angus aging, paws at the carpet behind her. She wants the right dress to make verdant again the hills
Do I write in the third person or only in the first? Do my ideas reign supreme or do other ideas work as well? Do I know I’m always right
Despite the digital holocaust of computers and cell phones, Newberry Library remains the Vatican of books with the right sounds,
Many years later when I meet her… on my way out of the Russian Tea… I notice how beautiful she is dini… a man more attentive than I was ba… But I see chaos dancing in her ey…
My grandson whispers the morning dew sparkles like diamonds in the grass. Donal Mahoney
This is Granny in the Ozarks call… Please come down before spring goes away for summer. The geese are coming through and landing on the pond
Noon meal at the nursing home and everyone is there chowing down and talking. Before dessert is served there’s an announcement to be made
Dreams I can’t remember cause a conflagration fire hoses can’t put out. Dreams I can recall arrive in technicolor.