I am, admittedly, not a blogger, but you see, I have this friend I’m fond of that managed to twist my virtual arm. So, here I am, this evening, writing my opening post to launch my very own author website and to promote both my first full-length collection, The Trees are on Fire, and my chapbook, Forgetting Aesop, as well as all the other wonderful ditties written by me that are available all over the internet. I am a Goodreads author and The Trees are on Fire now has a Facebook fan page. Please, take a look around, click on a few links, buy a book or two. For now, I leave you with the title poem from The Trees are on Fire as a sample of my work, since Amazon’s “Look Inside” feature doesn’t appear to be fully functional yet, although there are two lovely reviews of The Trees are on Fire there. Check them out! Happy reading!

The Trees are on Fire

And not a drop of water fell from the sky.

If the trees are indeed on fire, then why

does the sky only expose itself for the stars?

And if it’s a long way through the wilderness?

If the schoolyards are full of dying oaks?

The questions lurk with the boys running around

the yard. There they climb the open throats of the trees.

There they still come, bodies awakening,

just as we came and played until all the beauty

and laughter bled through the trees.

Things are known to burn here.

It is in this fire they build hearts and amazement—

their imaginations the resilience now coursing

through our veins, only in a different way,

like ghosts arising

from amazement in things that never grew up.

Their innocence

whispers to us: Dream.

As crows swarm over

the trees like cicadas

singing in hot hours: Come here.

Slipping starkly, easily into

the night is sometimes

the answer. Those who

follow the expressways

of the heart,


we won’t ever

get there.

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