Each time you wear it

Here’s a poem, a sort of sonnet, from my second book, Scattered Showers in a Clear Sky. It’s directed to an old friend. Fabricating The clothing did not fall from you in tatters, nor did your feet swell these 40 years. The Goodwill store sells everything that matters. Forget the Lord and Taylor, all your

The Presence of Crows

Here’s another poem from my book Digging for God; The presence of Crows, Halifax I’ve been longing to see the flash of black, gold, white, the evening, the evening grosbeak, but all I see, all that greets me from the lawn are crows – murders of them. One befriended by the lure of peanuts, less