Writings

         I             saw               in             the               sky                  a                  skein                      of                         geese                           like                             a                                neck-                                       lace                                         un-                                              done                                                under-                                                     sides                                                   wink-                                                     ing                                                   grey                                                and                                              white                                                     pearls                                                          the sky                                                              had                                                                 loosen-                                                                          …

– For Len Gasparini I could have mumbled a poem at you Easily yet the mornings bring a batter up That knows little of what a true Arm presses from pectoralis to wrist Twisting ahead of a nervous bat Quickly      adjusting But my eyes    if you look    know Nothing Like the sound that whips by my ear My arm a clipping sailing cutter No one hears This is not poetry    this is the manner By which I begin and end The poem yours   homerun Slammed back from a 90 foot…

Culture is a system of values – economic values, aesthetic values, moral values etc – to want to preserve it…

Someone once said that all writers and artists, famous or not, share the same pain and the same dreams. They…

Fiorello La Guardia, the larger-than-life mayor of New York City, was the big draw at the Third National Conference of…

SAPLING Sunday mornings, Mom attends mass at St. Ambrose Church while Dad takes me to High Park where I play…

“Since the house is on fire, let us warm ourselves.” (Italian proverb)   Monday, 9 a.m. Not writing. Dim, dreary…