Posted in Rituals


We both knew the answer –
some things are just known
without ever been spoken out loud,
information carried by the electrons of valence.
Que sera sera,
unless luck joins in.
Luck –
fickle, inconstant, independent
not made
not the prerogative of self-help
can’t be created, bought
or stored.
Luck comes along when luck decides to,
either it shows up, or it doesn’t.

Two tangents might touch at 90°
can cross,
at an airport
in a street market
during trauma. Chance is a black cat
or four-leaf clover
not be relied upon …… or trusted
no voting rights, or veto.

“Will we see each other again?”
Synapses cut the cards : NO
“ Yes.”
It was what I needed to hear,
what she needed to say.



Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.