47 year old pottery.

There’s a sadness

associated with listening

to these artists

who shaped

our youth.

Once upon a time

they lit the flame

that roared within us,

creating a furnace

that seared our creative juices

and kept us up too late.

Their latest cuts

are every bit as solid

as the music that informed us

so long ago.

But there is no spark in it

(or maybe no spark

left in us).

All I can do

is listen

and nod along

in an appreciation

of the immense talent

and dedication inherent

in each note.

But my 18 year old putty

has been through that fire

and is now a hardened ceramic

of 47.

Sadly, I am somewhat beyond

such immersive influence.



Live like there’s something, sorta, like… you know… and stuff….

They say,

“live like the Mountain’s out,”

and I try to….

I even have a button

that says the very same thing.



I live

like the Mountain’s wearing

a snuggly-hat,

in a house coat,

hanging out on the couch

trying to catch up

on the reruns…

old shows it’s not seeing…

all of that,

you know what I mean.


I also play a lot of video games.

But I can see

the Mountain from my house,

and that’s always nice.

My boy

Such a euphoria

this moment,

my son,

desperate for sleep,

but unable…

or unwilling…

to embrace it.

We await

the inevitable nature

of sleep.

And then

he tugs

at my arm,

like a blanket…

such joy!

I lie, as if pretending sleep,

but I must hold back

my emotions

over this small gesture;

he is a trial,

at times,

but then, as it is now,

he is so much more…

… a reward.

The fog of the nog

Stinking from drinking

(a night on the sauce)

I sat near the fire

to spy the red-suited boss.

Winking (mostly blinking)

I gazed through my fog

and hoisted a toast

to the last fire log.

My thinking was kinking

as I knocked back a quaf

should I mix another

or had I had enough?

The linking of rhymes

was getting harder, I thought.

Is that sleighbells I hear?

I guess I ought not.

Merry Christmas!

Remember unto thee, this

The lights,

they twinkle,

they shine,

they enchant….

The music, it entraps,

confines and reminds:

this is the season

that we reconnect

(whether by need,


or familial force)

with our past….

Embrace and engage this thing,

even if it stings,

because, as sunsets lengthen,

you will certainly recall

only these tiny moments

that once brought


but now carry forth

the burden

of melancholy

and nostalgia,

joy and cheer…

the holidays….