October in Stockbridge
A New England reflection We came where Berkshire whispers dwell, To walk the streets where silence fell On painted doors and windowpanes, Where autumn’s breath through white walls strains.
What Santa Says When Asked What’s Hardest
He sets the list down slowly by the fire, as if it weighs more than it looks like it should. Outside, the reindeer shift their hooves - the sound of waiting.
At the Berkshire Garden
There’s just something special about a botanical garden - this one, the Berkshire, tucked between the folded hills of western Massachusetts, where stone walls and winding roads seem to know your name.
The Usher and My Father - 2022
On Lincoln Street I sat... book open, heart open, summer sun leaning through the window, time thick as molasses in a jar.
At Authors’ Ridge - 2024
For The Steady One We came not just to walk, but remember... Past Concord’s hush, past pine and ember - Where word and wind and granite sleep, And roots hold secrets buried deep. No fanfare marked the path we chose - Just lichen bloom on aging rows, And leaves like letters overhead That whispered names we’d long since read.
The Lady of Woodlawn
By the crypt-mist’s breath and candle’s sigh — in the style of Poe Set in Elmira’s Woodlawn Cemetery, this poem listens for the echoes that linger between art and afterlife. The Lady becomes both muse and mirror - a figure through whom memory, creation, and mourning converge.
West on I-88
A Vigil for My Father We keep watch so love has company in the dark. West on I-88 I. Westbound West on I-88, the hills lean close, fog stitched along their backs like something unfinished.
The Drowned Valley
A Poetic Meditation on the Old Stone Church , West Boylston , Massachusetts The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn. - Ralph Waldo Emerson , Essays: Nature There are places the world forgets, and others it keeps remembering for us. The Old Stone Church in West Boylston is one of the latter.
