I don’t write in a journal everyday, but I have accumulated many entries over the past 50+ years beginning in 1966. Some items evolved into longer works. Among the leftovers little pieces survived. I thought a collection of these with a piece culled from the same date in a past year would make an interesting yearbook. The consistencies and inconsistencies of mind, skipping back and forth across time, provide varied perspectives. It is difficult to remember the context of the past we’ve lived; we also make suppositions about times that predate ourselves.

The few alterations from original drafts were to improve clarity. The worst of my work is not included. There remains enough mediocrity and immaturity to make me feel humble and you feel smart. There are also moments of accidental insight and incidental humor.

Author Stephen Crane referred to his little pieces as pills…apparently they were small and somewhat hard to swallow, but good for you.


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Saturday, February 22, 2020

Winter Evening in Kilkare Woods


February 22, 1971  (I was 26)

Winter Evening in Kilkare Woods
The sun is set below my sight,
I shiver in the half chill of half night.
The leaves of trees and grass are wet,
silver coated in the cold.

The sky reflects an empty mirror;
the wind makes haunts of dog howls.
Oaks grow gray and twisted as martyrs
beneath the Eucharist Moon.
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