Purple Dahlia


Yellow Dahlia


The Sea

The sea is hard and cold and deep,

she is cruel and careless too

but she quiets the things I rue

and when she whispers I can sleep.

‘Tis peace I find here at the shore

the smells of rot and some decay

bind to salt in a pleasing way

and life’s travails pang me no more.

The waves and tide in her abide

and wild surfs wash clean many pasts

sand filing edges smooth at last,

she’s freeing souls for one last ride.

The wheeling soaring gulls do cry

but at the ocean’s side, not I.


Insidiously creeping stuff,

insinuating into food

and other places much more crude,

rasping ones’ skin until it’s rough.

It slides inside my shoes you see

and fills them full, no room for feet

and thence prevents my being fleet.

It seems it just won’t let me be.

By going to the sea it seems

I must sacrifice some comfort

for the joys that the ocean brings.

Like seeing how the sunlight gleams

and how the shrimp boats come to port.

My heart soars as the ocean sings.

Spring Forward

Spring Forward

Tree Line

Tree Line

Glory Road

Glory Road

Night’s Robe

Night Falls

The Cave

Ghosts of Clam Chowder

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