Something to crow about and then some. My short poem, “At Harriet Tubman’s Grave in Fort Hill Cemetery in Auburn, New York” is appearing in the print issue of Fence 42, Winter 2025—in the mail soon!…
Buy Nothing Day
Today no money changed hands as far as I was concerned. I did not drive. I did not order anything online. I did not even patronize local businesses—that was yesterday. What did I do? Wash clothes using laundry detergent purchased many moons ago. Activated the big-gun leaf blower we inherited from my son to begin the annual ritual spring cleaning up of the mess that is our outside universe here in Western Oregon…
The Last Bouquet
I picked the last batch of dahlias on November 22nd, seventeen days after the disastrous, shameful results in the U.S. presidential election. It had been a relatively warm fall overall and the dahlias just kept on blooming right up until the day when it was time to cut down the stalks, cover the beds with thick plastic, shovel then rake a thick layer of bark mulch on top—their over-wintering insulation so I did not have to dig up all the tubers and put them into crates full of peat moss and newspaper for storage…
Turning Away from (Anti-) Social Media…
Well, the time has finally come for me. I am done. I can no longer pretend these social media platforms are harmless, are working for the overall greater good. I can no longer engage, participate, abide even though I know these sites have been good for many communities particularly writers and artists. The latest news that the CEO of the companies under the umbrella of the (very silly) company name Meta will end its fact-checking program in favor of a community-based system to determine veracity and truth is the final straw for me…
Choosing Beauty…
these bleak, dispiriting days since the events of November 5, 2024. Here is the penultimate bouquet from my front yard dahlia farm. One week from today, this year’s deconstruction begins: cutting down the stalks, laying out the plastic to cover the plants, then bark mulch on top of that to (hopefully) keep the tubers from freezing over the wet, winter months…
Travel without Traveling: Stanley Tucci’s Searching for Italy
I have spent the past few days attempting to fit random-shaped jigsaw pieces into a puzzle. My back is to the television set where my convalescing spouse watches the second season of Stanley Tucci: Searching for Italy for the second time; we originally saw them during the pandemic when they first migrated from CNN (which we don’t get because we don’t have cable) to HBO…
Book Report: On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century
It seems fitting to post this nod to an excellent primer about tyranny today, February 29, 2024, after the clearly compromised majority of our current Supreme Court decided yesterday to hear a treasonous criminal’s plea for immunity from any and all crimes committed when he was the (accidental) President of the United States…
Publication News: Poeming Pigeon: In the News
After the shock of the November 2016 presidential election in the United States, things got very real very fast. The following year it often felt like the rat-a-tat of explosions perhaps even rapid gunfire—the cruel and verging-on-fascists nonsense that the administration started to spew. It was hard not to have the edginess of politics creep into the writing of poems
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Podcast Review: Echoes of a Coup
Scene on Radio just concluded their latest and, once again, excellent sixth podcast series entitled Echoes of a Coup. I just finished listening to it today. In five outstanding, riveting, at times shocking and heartbreaking episodes, we as listeners learn of yet another pivotal historical event that has been consciously and deliberately erased—whitewashed is perhaps the better terms—from the annals of American history…
New Year and the Undoing
End of the holiday season so swiftly upon us. Ornaments wrapped, stored in the growing inventory of empty Garrett’s popcorn cans. Glass icicles removed, laid to rest in a metal, candy-caned tin tied with a sateen bow. Strings of red beads, garland, back in their indigo blue box. Light strings unclipped and tied with twine until needed again next year…
