It Was, Like

July 28, 2010

She was, like,


And he was all,

like, poking


And then I was,


“Leave that thing alone.”

And she was like,


And they were all, like,

“It’s moving!”

And the other kid

was like,

“Is that real?”

And then they all,


backed away.

And then it was like,


it was



Image by nAncY

Doubt Palace

July 20, 2010

Friday evenings

In Doubt Palace,

We cut the floor just right –


Shimmering gowns

and stained tuxedos,

Moving in circles,

forming lines

like shining deals

awaiting signature;

And there was

just enough champagne

to remind us

that these huddled accomplishments

would never make it

back through

the front gates


“Glass Art” photo by nAncY.


July 17, 2010

The next couple of poems I will be sharing were written several years ago when I was working with my daughter on a school poetry project. I was writing mostly from a subconscious stream. Make of it what you will.


going down

drawn swift,

pulled tight

just by my wanting it.

You flashed and flew

marking the target

on the grid

of my once

placid morning.

I’m in shock.


July 10, 2010

I glide transparent

beneath the surface

of the skin

Where even my voice

does not know

it’s own words – 

Swimming in the essence

of bluish rivers

bulging, gone mad;

surging away from its

pulsing mother.

Once nourished,

but now

trapped inside walls of

skin and sinew

organs and tissue,

drowning in blood.

Swimming in salt and

Chromosomic particles

That are not really me.

Not me.

Just the parts I

am made of.


does not always

add up to

the whole.

Photo by Nancy.


July 3, 2010

I was mostly a very good boy

However, I have a particularly

vivid memory

of the first really

wicked thing

that I did

of my own volition

when I was just about

four years old.

My sister and her friend

Sally Gardner

were playing in the front yard

on a beautiful summer day.

The lawn was spotted

with hundreds, thousands 

of dandelions,

The pretty yellow sticky flowers

Reduced to fluffy seed pods

that would soon blow

into the neighbor’s lawn,

where they would reproduce

their evil weedness.

My siblings and I

would frequently

pick the white dandelions puffs

and blow the fluffy seeds

into the wind

and watch them float away

on the summer’s breeze,

as most kids will do.

But on that fateful day,

as we were all outside playing,

I picked a dandelion

and instead of blowing away the seeds

I received a Vision

for an entirely new

and different thing

to do with those fluffy dandelion tendrils.

It involved my sister.

It was brilliant,

and I acted upon it immediately.

I bent down

and picked the stem

of the biggest, fluffiest dandelion

I could find,

heavy with the burden

of the thousands of spores

clinging to its head.

I held it behind my back

and walked up to my sister. 

“I have a trick.” I said.

“It’s magic.”

“Yeah?” she replied, intrigued.

She stopped whatever she was doing,

and glanced at her friend.

A trick will be fun,

she’s thinking.

And my brother is such a Good Boy.

“Here’s what you do.

First you have to close your eyes.”

She looks at Sally Gardner,

and her friend nods

with approval

and eager anticipation.

“Ok, my eyes are shut.”

I wanted to be sure.

“Tight! You can’t look.”

“OK!” she giggles,

pressing her eyelids

together so hard

that her face is all

puckered up.

“Next,” I say,

like a professional trickster,

“you have to

open your mouth

real big

while we get ready

to say the magic words.”

Her mouth opens

into a beautiful oval

with perfectly white

five-year old teeth.

Her pretty brown hair

is twitching with the wind.

She obediently waits

for the next instruction.

I bring the dandelion

right up to her face,

real close.

Then, as hard as I can,

without any further warning,

I blow all the seeds

right into her mouth.

Her eyes burst open wide.

She starts choking.

I didn’t really think

about what would happen next.

Sally Gardner glares at me,

horrified, shocked.

My sister starts spitting

and crying

as she grasps

at the realization

that she has just

been absolutely betrayed

by her brother.

Fiercely angry,

she screams that she is

telling on me

and bolts for the house

with her friend running behind,

comforting her. 

Honestly, I thought

it would be clever

and funny.

And, yes,

a little mean.

That was part of the fun.

Only I hadn’t


the consequence.

She has probably

forgotten about it

by now.

Prayer Circles

July 1, 2010


When I was in grad school?

In Boston?

I attended a very

Prestigious, historical church,

and –

They had this college fellowship group?

And, well,

I really enjoyed

getting together every Sunday evening

with other students

from the many fine colleges and universities

in the greater Boston area.

But, then?

I started to notice?

That these people

kind of had

this funny way

of praying in public. 

When the time came

to share prayer requests

and testimonies,

one person after the other

would stand up

and start speaking,

but every sentence would end

with their voice

climbing up? 

As if

they were

asking a question?

While climbing the stairs?

It started with this one girl,

From BU,


She asked for prayer

for her mom?

And then this other girl

from Wellesley?


She got up and praised God

about her roommate getting healed

from some miserable sickness.

But even she –

A Wellesley woman –

also finished off

her sentences

as if they were questions?

Like it made

her sound

more vulnerable?

And spiritual?

And then?

This guy from MIT?


Well, he started asking for prayer

for some kind of surgery

he was scheduled for?

And he used that same tone?

Like he was almost

going to

start crying?


After all the requests were spoken

And rightfully heard,

The leader

Decided to close

the meeting 

in prayer:


We just ask

that you would watch over

our group tonight?

And that

your Holy Spirit?

Would give us


and power?

And, Lord?” 

At this point

It all sounded to me

So ridiculous

That I started



There was no question

About it.

Photo by nAncY.