Of course, the raven and use of the word nevermore directly allude to the great Edgar Allan Poe’s poem “The Raven.”   

Why must you cast me as Poe’s raven

perched above your door

whispering, whispering,




Your willful disregard

for the feelings

of the bearer of bad news

shows a lack of love

for she who must play a role

she does not choose.


Dear Sir, I do not wish to say again

that which I have said before-

all that you desire…




For this little bird

is not obliged to stay.

Once more,

choose not to heed her,

and she will fly away.

Forevermore, forevermore

Never again to say,



Poets and Whores

I was a virgin until I was twenty-four.

How I wish I were a whore-

as I would have been called by the one who reared me.


Back then I was of the belief

that carnal pleasures would bring me grief-

for I would incur the wrath

of a god created

by a religion

for which I never fully subscribed.


But I see now.  I see

that we were not meant to be


Saints belong to heaven.

Earth is for God

and mortals.


And on earth there must also be

love and kindness and decency-

and all those things that have nothing to do with

doctrine and dogma and institutions

institutes, expectations, traditions,

teams and clubs

all those things

which the good people of this world



This place

this life

is for those who are brave enough to be free

of the tedious monotony

of fitting in

of bridling the spirit

and crushing the soul.


Here’s to the poets, the misfits, the lovers, the brave

the fearless who live this life with compassion and God

and know–

when the world becomes as small as the crate you’ll be buried in,

you’re as good as dead.

Dreams and Beasts



like warm air,


and hover overhead

until black winged beasts

chase them

into charcoal


where the only light

is the sickening yellow glare

of a setting sun.

If only this poor prey

were made

of heavier matter



they could race the beast

back down

to the safe embrace

of their creator.

Rotten Day

Bad day

Of my own choosing

My own choices

My own rotten thoughts

My anger

My fear

All that is mine alone

This day was all mine.


During that fleeting moment

when the sun did shine

I took little notice

except to realize

how dark darkness can be

when juxtaposed with light.


Fix us a drink love

and sit with me.

Perhaps tonight

we can save this rotten day.

An Impractical Sadness

Why do these tears rise so close to the surface?

Like the countless drops that fill the swollen river

and wait to overflow its banks,

so too do these tears wait to fall.

They are tears of loss

of the past

of the present

of the awareness that-

as the river washes away the earth-

time washes away life.

These tears will spring forth

from the most joyful moments

and flow from the impractical sadness

of knowing

that life

and death

are one.

Japanese Maple in Late November

Leaves fall,

uncloaking the grand oak.

The cricket’s song

drifts away with the breeze.

But the delicate Japanese maple

remains glorious and resplendent.


Lying under a charcoal sky,

leaves falling like memories of time past,

I turn my head and see you

in the distance.

You-the ruby haired queen

standing on the rampart

watching battle weary soldiers fall.

And I understand hope.

Shadows and Light

Life with you was shadows and light.

On days when there was only light,

there was never only light.

A small step

in either direction

and you would cast your shadow.

Some days it would remain small

yet present.

It would ruminate

and wait

and then grow.

It would grow

until it reigned over us.

And tears would rain

from eyes

that searched

longing for light’s return.

If only it was always shadow,

the light would not be missed.

But such was not our fate.


Now that you are gone, it is only shadow-

that haunts my memories

that burdens my conscience

that chases the light.







An end

that never ends