Still The puppeteer prepares for coming night—he sweeps the floor, hangs tools above the stillunpainted woodland scenery. Pale lightstrikes fantoccini spines. Twilight invades the shop as sunlight …

The Neighborhood Rhapsody Mothers and grandmothers take turnsLooking over the brood, gripping their eyes to the worldThat is their neighborhood. Young men whose shifts begin in the evening, or…

To My Fellow Old People (Oops, “Seniors”) I know we’re all supposed to sayWe’re not afraid to die.But when you claim to feel that way,I want to ask you why.You think it’s time to step asideBecause …

My Wife & I Go Down the Road Blest pair of Sirens, Voice & Verse,Keep the hollow from our purse,Now that we have put you first;Give us both enough to eat,Shoes below to clothe our feet,Raft…

Cricket with Father His legs, placed by the table's centrepiece,Revive a retro posture—crisscrossed feet—A style so august that it can increaseThe stature of his no-frills wooden seat.Although it seems those eyes are on the score,In truth, they try to gauge my mother's mood—If fine, he might receive a snack or moreWith tea—a fusion that's immensely good.

Monday Morning The wind whistled around the house just nowwith that insistence winter air reservesfor nights with something wistful to declare.A fly’s frustration breaks the daylight’s silencewith a buzzing at the windowpane. The treesalong the wood’s edge have that look that saysit’s time to give up color for the season. There’s not much new, I’ve seen it all before;

Parking Space Forgetting fantasies of fame and cool,You stand before a green reflecting poolTo decompress. Beneath a grove of birch,You feel this park serves as a natural church.Away from charts, graphs, deadlines, and barrageOf calls, you shut your eyes and sense mirage:Retirement. In office, you might seetheAnd stew and gripe, but here you slow and breathe…