The Surfer

Oh, Jon:  he owns that blue green tunnel’s sway
before bold nature casts him from the sea.
He’s god and for a moment has his way.
What man resists such magic brevity?
The moment flows and swift the water flies.
Around such power one might turn away
but surfers are committed as they ride
momentum’s wave.  There is no turning back
from beauty of the sea’s bold shining glanceWarren Wave
a heavy hand that turns the mighty wave.
There’s climax and a mystery’s romance
for man who will forever be its slave.
Acceptance gives the surf its final spin
as glorious as when that dance begins.

“The Lost”


“A look and a hug; a soft hug.  I press the doll to my breast and smile, trying to recapture those moments…

Then my Aunt says, ‘Don’t you remember playing with her?  I found her in my attic and thought you might get a kick out of seeing her again.’

It is shocking to see something you played with at age five and now you are fifty-five.   An abandoned love.  I try to grasp her memory.  I hold her like a baby.  The wonder, hope, and spirit might rise again within me so I might own her.   But that five year old girl gone; abandoned.  The giggles and kisses blurred, buried and put away in the attic years ago.”