Morning Routine…

I walked into work today, just like

every other day (Monday through Friday

that is, unless on vacation, or sick, or…

yeah, those exceptions could take a while

to list), set my coffee cup on the counter

at my computer, shook the black tailed

mouse to wake up my PC from it’s nightly

slumber, slumped into my chair (ok, fine,

I plopped) and waited for my day to begin.



Sardines brined and packed

inside a tin can, separated

from the life we once lived.

The ocean calls, go forth!

The klaxon rings as the tide

catches fire and runs red.

“War, boys! This is it!”

This is what we’ve waited for.

This is what we’re trained for.

Rockets glare like comets

streaking across the night

as the tin can bare’s its teeth.

Then, as the shore shimmers white,

with fair winds and following seas,

each sardine walks his own plank.

Still brined, but no longer packed

inside the tin can. Yet, still separated

from the life we once loved.


I have always said the thing I hated most about serving in the Navy was being deployed and the thing I loved the most about being in the Navy was being deployed. This poem is birthed out of that oxymoron.

A Different Drum…


His feet bang and clang in a bat-a-rang sing-song style, while his heels heave heavy upon battered metal with no apparent rhythm.

His untied laces and muddy boot faces mark the derelict work shoes that are one size to many, but for a penny, they will just have to do.

But there he rests, up on top the chest,  with the handles to drawers planned for his comeback encore while his dad yells from the other room.



Three Line Tales #22

photo by Rosan Harmens – click here for full res version


A rain drop hit my forehead today

And as I reached up to wipe it away,

It rolled down the bridge of my nose.

Trapped between nose pad and skin

It was too much effort to try and get

Because I’d have to remove my glasses.

Besides, the coolness from the drip

Nestled on my nose was enough to

Make me feel just a touch cooler.



Echoes of Sin…

I remember feeling…

…feeling something.

Something other than pain.


A faint echo…

Echo of what?

Of what love was…

Of what love is suppose to be.


No more.

No more.

Replaced and refilled,

gone with a gust of wind

that blew hot on the

asphalt and ignited

my life with fire.


Burning bright,

a solitary light that…

that what?

That shines a spotlight,

lighting my weakness

and reveling in revealing

my sin.