change, Coping, Loss, Love, Regret


In the hills of Sierra de los Padres
A bus slid off – a muddy roadway
And rolled and rolled without a skid
And left a kid – alone – on Sunday

She drove from church with laughing niños
And dropped them off – uno por uno
While el hijo stayed home and waited with papá
In the llora of rain on the edge of Negro

Madre de mi amor

I now live north with frozen rain
Draw my bow – slow – from Domingo’s pain
When I was young – and roads – húmedo
Madre de mi amor

How far must I go

For dVerse Poets Pub Open Mic Night



By Fronz von Stuck

… the sun rolls up
then down out of sight
only to make rounds again

waves rise and fall
rise and fall
across curves on Neptune’s face

to the top
to the top of the hill
rolls the immense boulder

and pushed
and cursed
eternal effort caged in visual echo

to the bottom
to the bottom of the hill
rolls back
strength’s sweat in vain

flying thunder taunts and laughs

to the sky
back to the sea
to the summit
back to the valley

again, again, again
up and down
rise and fall
push and cry

again, again, again, again, again
never ends
never ends

a bleeding tongue that never mends

toil and fail
toil and fail
forever and forever cries the wail of Sisyphus
along my deep rutted fate

fruit of betrayal

the alarm cries dawn
my boulder waits

the sun rolls up …