A Thought for Every Word

Archive for the ‘Reflections’ Category


A tear touched the still surface
Ripples began to spread
I forced my hand against the motion
to stop the ripples from reaching the edge

Shed unexpectedly without thought
Nonetheless recognized - again
Not wanting the tear to move or flow
wishing it to be buried and drowned unseen

The wave rose and crested
Falling hard upon the sands of loss
Grimacing with bared teeth
The pain slipped and fell in the wet sand

Pebbles beneath worn shoes
Find their way into holes in the heart
Sharing past lives lived in sun filled days
Undefined measures of time tossed

Touch when unaccustomed, burns
Skin tender and bruised with mistrust
A hand extends to grasp another outstretched
Find the gesture was given to another

The tear would not be stopped
Ripples spread with rapid steps
Dashed now against the edge
A bowl of water inches deep

Drops of Rain

On the sidewalk they merge to form puddles.

On the sand they disappear.

On my face, the drops move in rivulets, and hide among my tears.

The wind whips at the bare trees.

It pushes the rain against the windows.

In the light of the incandescent bulb, the rain trails down the glass panes.

Mimicking the path on my cheeks.


The Dark

The light seeped through the crack

in the wall,

I didn’t recognize the significance.

Shielding my eyes,

I put my thumb over the crack

and the light disappeared.

Now, the dark is familiar

and that I recognize

Post Mortem

If it no longer beats, it is useless.
If it is useless, throw it out,
Can’t be missed if it no longer beats.
Won’t be noticed among all the clutter.

If it no longer beats, it is useless.
Useless things are discarded,
Out of sight, gone, and forgotten.
So many broken and empty shells.

If it no longer beats, it is useless.
To remove it you could use a spoon,
A pry bar, an icepick, a velvet glove.
Or words like razors that slice.

If it no longer beats, it is useless.
Can’t be reused or recycled,
Recharged, reclaimed, or rekindled.
And no one cares if it died.


Sentinel – Haiku



Irrationally, she reacted to the inconsistencies of disparate memories of her youth.
She chose to remember a more lively, sweeter existence than there actually existed.
She wished only to see the peaks that were her happiest days.
She blotted out the real life decrepitude.
More is the pity.

When she was younger, all was well, her mother told her so.
Then tragically, or so she thought, death defined her.
Death of a parent, so young they said, was tempered by tears she forgot to shed.
They wondered why, so did she, and that was the mystery.

She is unfeeling, they cried.
She is uncaring, they sighed.
She is young, they decide.
Memory, will reside, in a heart full of question.

It was many years later, that she finally believed.
The truth she remembered, was wrong and ill conceived.
Battered and abused, used and tossed aside.
She had not realize she was glad when he died.

The nights no longer haunt her.
The daylight no longer frightens.
The moon no longer whispers.
The sun…it now enlightens.

Seven Souls

The heavy transport
rolled over hardened sand
carrying a precious load.
The tire blew, the transport shook,
then tumbled off the road.

Over the edge of the precipice
the boys began to fall
down to the ground below.
Flag draped coffins, seven the count,
filled the cargo row.

To finally rest
in familiar earth
fulfilling one last commitment.
Their last jump, seven souls did make,
in a star filled firmament.

Dedicated to the Seven… Iraq: Sept 10, 2007. 1st Squadron, 73rd Cavalry Regiment, 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 82nd Airborne Division, out of Fort Bragg, N.C.

A Soldier’s Mother

When he told me he was leaving,
I cried for a while.

When he told me he was settled,
I sighed and I smiled.

When he told me he was outbound,
I worried for a time.

When they told me he was coming home,
I ached deep inside.

He went where he wanted.
He did what he felt best.
He believed he was right.

How could I protest…

Being Human ~ a collection of haiku

bittersweet taste of
impatient raging hormones
lost virginity

children come and smile
a parent’s gentle comfort
middle age beckons

empty nest at last
remembered tearful goodbyes
life begins again

dreaming of spent youth
old photos cry disbelief
paper thin recall

whispered final words
unkempt sorrowful faces
an angel cries aloud

a life cycle told
in words that cannot explain
a human drama

Requiem ~ Haiku

a life cycle told

in words that cannot explain

the human drama

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