They live in fantasies and science fiction
there’s one in my D&D Monster Book
it’s unaligned - neither good nor evil
172 hit points

four thousand years go
the Babylonians wrote about them
claiming their hero Gilgamesh
killed one that had seven heads

there’s even a constellation dedicated to one
it’s the largest constellation in the sky
she’s said to be the sister of a dragon

they also live among us
in our rivers and ponds
in freshwater lakes and streams
sometimes right here in Wisconsin

they have no gills or eyes
they have no heart or brain
they don’t feel love or pain
their soft bodies mislead us
to assume they're weak

three blocks away
in a pond in the park
these tiny creatures might reside

and now for the weird part
that caught my eye
as I perused the science journal

they are not swimming through life
they are swimming through eternity

their little bodies are made from stem cells
and scientists confirm they are
I-M-M-O-R-T-A-L

hydras live in fantasies and science fiction
and maybe
in a pond three blocks from my house
F-O-R-E-V-E-R

how can we be sad for more than a second
when life is so mysterious and magical?

before they fall
I can hear the leaves
share their secrets
in whispers

gracefully floating
to the cool ground
where they surrender
to autumn
____________

as she fell
my mother whispered
her secret to me


she closed her eyes
gracefully floating
and surrendered
to winter

she was never more beautiful
neither were the leaves

It is 3am
a gentle rain wakes me
in sacred stillness I sense the infinite

as if I’m wrapped in a shroud of peace

as the entire universe loves me

after an immeasurable time
I begin to move ever so slowly
hoping to take a bit of this grace with me

In ’29, it was born
a miracle of steel and wheels
one of Henry’s Model A’s with the soul of the jazz age

from flapper dresses to bales of golden hay
this roadster pickup truck
carried the hopes of a nation

a nation still reeling from its first world war
a nation that roared through the twenties
a nation now mired in a great depression

on dirt roads it traveled
from farmsteads to speak-easies
seeing the pain and despair
etched in the faces of Americans

this little truck's rumble
echoed the pulse of our country
its spirit of strength, resilience, and resolve

then and since
it bore the marks of era after era
each story carved in rust

this witness to history
now has a new home in a new era
nestled in our garage

a crimson red tribute
to the pain and bloodshed
of the countless people
who touched this little truck
since its birth almost a century ago

a tribute to their struggle
to build a free life in a free country

Love is thread
it weaves us together

we feel its tug on our hearts
as leaves begin to change to gold and amber
and a crispness seeps into the night air

we anticipate the embrace of family
amid the grace of autumn
where feast and song and dance await

we imagine the glow of togetherness
a familial fire as laughter rises
with bonfire’s smoke

a warm celebration 
to remind us
who we are

from where we came
of ancient roots
and the tender heartbeat
of our family’s soul

not a reunion
these bonds never break
but a homecoming
to rekindle
the hearts
the threads
the love

family is living tapestry
love is thread

In his pocket
there’s a list of their measurements
as we drive in silence
feeling the solemn weight
of decisions to come

we enter the funeral supply room
and wander the aisles
seeking sacred vessels to cradle them
no longer vital and evolving
but frozen now in eternity


Oh, once vibrant beloveds
what coffins are worthy
to hold you now?

we choose good woods with care
seeking strength and beauty
avoiding any blemish
some plain
some handsome
each matching the spirit of their contents

the mortician explains his work
but he doesn’t feel reverent

we decide to take charge
and prepare them ourselves
for this final embrace

as we labor in devotion
each is nestled in their portal
readied for a new time and place

five paintings, five frames, five farewells

As I stretch my legs with naked feet together
my toes remind me of a chess set
my right toe is the white queen
(if you ignore your middle toes
you can figure from there on your own feet)

but my army is frail
after decades of barefoot summers
and a medical file filled
with breaks and sprains
they fail to intimidate even the weakest foe

how can I expect these old women
to soldier on without reinforcements
they can’t even march properly
across the kitchen
much less a battlefield

the pawns are all lost or taken prisoner
there’s only this one last line of defense
protecting my heels, ankles, and shins
a sad line of useless royalty and gentry

I wish I could castle
but my pinkies are stuck
so I resort to camouflage
with OPI polish called Bubble Bath

when at last the digit nails are dry to the touch
I watch them out of the corner of my eye
they tip-toe to safety
ungrateful and bitter for their plight
causing a wave of shame to wash over me

I can’t bear their complaints anymore
I cover them with socks
head for bed
and bury them under the blanket

being a general is so hard

Yes, it’s quite dorky

To write those bad rhymes

I’d guess that I’ve done it

One thousand times

Even the good poems
Are the butt of their joke
It’s why all great poets

Drink gin and do coke



So if you win big
on Bad Poetry Day
Just tell all your friends
You have nothing to say

Take the $25 bucks

Button your lip
Don’t mention poems

From the gin take a sip

For over four decades
the school in our backyard
was a second home for
our children and grandchildren

on the first day each year
there was always shining sunlight
illuminating the bustling backpacks
as we blew kisses and snapped photos

this year we watched 
from the kitchen window
feeling emptiness grip our hearts
the brilliant light had faded
the squeals of joy were distant murmurs
the colors paled

the laughter didn’t belong
to anyone we knew

I wiped my tears


when I was younger
I knew one day
I would leave life

but now I know
it’s not that way at all

in little ways
every day
life leaves you

I think we’ve been right all along
we really aren’t worthy of love

but here’s the miracle part:
it comes to us anyway

let’s stop with all the affirmations
about our imaginary worthiness
and simply believe in love
believe it will come to us
without incessant gaming or trading favors
without the thousand things we do and don’t
the thousand things we buy and sell — all to earn it

we can’t earn it

let’s gather up all that love-seeking energy
and use it to unearth our forgotten dreams
to listen to our soul’s most precious whispers

let’s use that energy to make our life true and good
to allow joy to fill our emptiness
and overflow into this beautiful world

let’s start by deciding
to let love surprise us
where we least expect it
— from within ourselves —

let’s do all of this until
we become a source of love
to all those people who need it most

you first

If you’re wondering what got me started writing poems, you’ll find the story here. Or, if you’re wondering why this collection is called Slender Stalk, click here. If you’re wondering where you can read the past issues of Slender Stalk, click here. If you’re wondering where you can read more of my poems, check out my website: Life at 240.

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