THE AMERICAN DEMOCRACY, a poem

          Our democracy

          is a magnificent

          iceberg

          never before tested

          by a chieftain

          with polluted values

         

          Will Donald Trump

          prove to be

          a negligible ice pick

          a scarring steam shovel

          or a scorching force

          of nature

         

          Perhaps our form

          of government

          will blunt him

          frustrate him

          enrage him

          burn him out

          (Dec. 31, 2016)

A suggestion: try my novel, OOOEELIE, on Kindle

         

          

MY ROCK, a poem

Sisyphus

now I understand

what she did

so well

meals, washing, dusting

and loving me

What a good deal

I had

what she did

now I must do

the price of love

housework is my rock

Sisyphus

A suggestion: try my novel, THE DREAM DANCER, on Kindle

(Dec. 23, 2016)

ROSE HILL in WINTER, a poem

Fordham’s icled elms

tinkling in the breeze

in this snow pure season

that glorifies trees

recalls to my mind

the statue of a queen

which stands alone

on Edwards Green

(Dec. 23, 2016: I wrote this poem in November of December, 1955

in response to a campus literary magazine offering to publish any

poem written about Fordham’s Rose Hill campus in winter. The poem was not published. This was only the first stanza of a longer poem. I don’t remember the rest.)

A suggestion: try my novel, THE TRUCKERS, on Kindle

          

GOING, GOING, a poem

In translucent boxers

I walk alongside

the naked laughing girl

she strides away

a growing distance

between us

I expect her

to stop to wait

to turn

to rejoin me

she doesn’t

In the distance

she pauses among

three young men

I hurry forward

but she is gone

never to return

(Nov. 26, 2016: Last night I dreamt I was walking with a naked girl; I was wearing translucent shorts. I was embarrassed by our mutual nakedness; it was her idea. She started walking ahead of me on this country road. I let the distance grow between us expecting her to stop to wait for me or to turn around to rejoin me. She didn’t. In the distance I saw her surrounded by three young men. I hurried forward. They were lost to sight, disappeared. I never found her. She was gone. I am working this into a poem: Going, Going)

A suggestion: try my novel, THE JYNX, on Kindle