Bio

I am past 80, born in 1943. A mere list of my ailments becomes, by sheer weight of fact, a list of complaints. I have Parkinson's and ABI and so I have a history of falls. I have osteoarthritis and osteoporosis. Somewhere in these lists I broke my hip and now am confined to a wheelchair.

My bones are as brittle as biscuits. The list of what I can no longer do is daunting.

Truth, beauty and goodness must be given strength amidst the mindless inevitability of the universe which, our best minds assure us, will itself run into nothingness deeper than we can imagine over a period beyond the control of our reckoning.The world is weaponized against us.

It has ever been
the law of change that when everything
reaches the peak of flourishing, it must begin to decay.

Death itself is awkward –
So much investment in self enrichment
Then …
What then but memories–if you are lucky,
Lucky but not your own.
The of point the whole is not you
It was never about you–it is recurrent endless enrichment of part of the species,
There also can be healing–
What use to be ambition, aspiration or simply greed–
Death is the question
The answer is sex.

If by chance you should want to know me, come with an understanding heart, and say, "he managed to be happy."

I have found the vulnerability of art. So can you.

I have discovered a keyword in my life is alienation. For example, these poems no longer seem mine, and yet they persist.

Be careful of the word “I”. Its meaning is multi-valent for a couple of examples there is the narrating “I”, the reflective “I”, the expressive “I”, etc.. You can fill in the rest. Just don't imagine that you know who is speaking in a poem you probably don’t.