Nothing in my stocking,Not a trinket nor a thoughtful bauble.Just dust and memoriesReducing my pace to a hobble. The deft, skillful, seamstress’s hands—Confused and enfeebled now—Made their mark long long ago.A magic I couldn’t disavow. Kindly fill my stocking.Just a silly doodad or helpful tool.Something to raise my spiritsWhen there is nothing merry or bright.…
The bird in my handDoes not sing; it barely chirps.Over there? Birdsong.
The term “unalive,” while used since 1828, has evolved into a vague euphemism that undermines language clarity and seriousness. Its modern application as a verb often circumvents content moderation and promotes linguistic laziness. Meaningful communication relies on precise language, essential for discussing life’s gravitas, especially in challenging contexts like death and grief.
Did you know there are over 43 quintillion permutations of 3x3x3 Rubik’s Cube? That’s 43 followed by eighteen zeroes. 43,252,003,274,489,856,000 to be more precise. For most of us, that’s a number we can’t even comprehend, so let me put some perspective on it. If you had one of these at the Big Bang (13 billion…
I don’t know why I suddenly wanted to re-watch the body-swap comedy Vice Versa (1988) except to say that I felt unreasonably nostalgic. If someone can give me anything with a more provocative flavor than nostalgia, I’d be much obliged. I remember when it was first released, and I know I liked it well enough…
You never told me your favorite colorOr about the monsters under your bed.I don’t know how you take your coffeeOr which thoughts you prefer pushed from your head.I won’t venture with you into the yonder, wild and blue,Or even admire you in any place your grace adorns.I can neither aver my aversion to good fortuneNor…
I coaxed your petals into full bloomBy nurturing your needsOn moonlit nights or in sunlit beams.A careful whisper, a hand that feeds,And, in tenderness, sweet surrender.Precious cargo, calyx-protected.Envy of the effete and lechers aplenty,Overlooking the oft neglected.
What follows is the speech I gave at an old Army friend’s wedding in Albuquerque, New Mexico, in November of this year. I’ve known Don for twenty-two years. My earliest memories of him are from Ft. Huachuca wherein I thought, “Who’s that old guy running in our group?” [aside: he’s only five years my elder].…
We all remember our first loves, right? When it comes to music, my first love was grunge. My parents exposed me to great music: southern rock, classic rock, and 80s country for the most part. My older brothers—between four and eight years my elders—turned me on to heavy metal and hip-hop. On any given day…