On the lake




The sun paints

the side of

the boathouse

glossy white,


the lake with light

that only night

can wash away.




The trees gather

around the shore

admiring their reflections,

leaves shimmering.




My boat follows

the water’s path,





I love the trees, lake, sun,

this day, this time

and I can almost believe

they love me back

when the wind sighs

and caresses my cheek

without a word,

the way lovers

so often do.

Frequently Not Asked Questions: Two



Why is “Poetry” listed as one of the categories on your blog? Aren’t you a failed poet?




Thank you for asking.



First, please note that you should be asking only one question at a time. Did you realize you asked two?



Second, do you have a problem with me listing “Poetry” as a category?



Third, I really wish you would capitalize the word “failed.” I just so happen to write in the literary style of poetry known as Failed. Surely you have heard of the Baroque1 or Metaphysical poets, Imagist poets, Confessional poets, and Martian poets? I am part of that great tradition and subscribe to the tenets of Failed Poetry, so technically I should be referred to as a Failed poet.


Martian poet, Christopher Reid, looking good, but a bit spaced out. (On Wikipedia.)


Like all great poets, Failed poets have one long foot and one short foot. (By the way, the easiest way to determine if someone has an ability to write poetry is to ask to see their feet. Don’t be fooled if they are so-called “Long fellows.”) Those of us who are part of this movement favor mixed metaphors and imprecise language, with an occasional forced rhyme in tribute to early rhymers like Shakespeare and John Donne. To us, poetry is music and every poem a song to sing, so when we’re feeling metrical we write singsong verse. Otherwise, we just write down whatever we are thinking but without the punctuation. We love words and like how they look on paper or computer screens. Many of us like to spell our words correctly, but it’s not required.


John Done is now done with poetry. We miss him. Thank you Wikipedia for this portrait.

Fourth, I put that category on my blog because I believe in the U.S. Constitution. For a little over a year, I submitted my poetry to various journals. Although one online and one print journal accepted my work out of pity, the majority wrote back to express regret and sorrow. Apparently editors all over the nation were filled with sadness and grief after reading my poems. I felt guilty singling them out and making them bear the full burden of reading my poetry, so I chose to include some on this blog and make that pain available to anyone and everyone. It is the American way.



Fifth, please keep in mind that on this blog I use the word “Poetry” in its broadest sense:  a bunch of words.





1 The Baroque movement never died. Most poets since the 1600s consider themselves Baroque; however, they now use the modern spelling “broke.”







Ode to My Dresser


You don’t quite live

up to your name

but then, who does?

At least you are steady

and always there

when I need you,

never refusing the things

I give you,

good at keeping secrets.

You still have your memories

of woods, rain, and birds

to comfort you

as you stand there patiently

not minding as I now grope,

now neglect you,

gathering dust day after day

listening to the alarm

at five o’clock and never

quarreling with the mirror

whom I so often greet with a smile,

but don’t even say hello to you.