There are 20 quadrillion ants upon the Earth, at least that’s what the experts gauge, and there’s two-and-a-half million for every human....

This village through which we’re driving is home to “Wild Bill McKeen”   and though we haven’t a clue who he is— or was— his name is on a...

I missed my car’s odometer hitting the 100,000 mark, despite my awareness it was coming, that at 99,999 it was just a quick jaunt to the...

After thirty years of struggle, I’ve penned my masterpiece. It’s the poem I can gloat is perfect: funny, heart-wrenching, born of blood...

I’ve been told to never use heart in a poem. It’s worn, archaic, schmaltzy— used by all the doggerelists this workshop leader has warned...

Lovely Rita, meter maid, nothing can come between us                              —The Beatles   The parking meter has ripped me off...

My landlady is ranting about the squirrels, how they dig up all her flowers, calling them tree rats, that all of us would hate them if it...

On the other side of the fence, the neighbour’s grass is lush and weedless. I see him kissing his stunning wife, tenderly, without...

The path to peace it’s said is found in sacred books of old, on parchment, scrolls and ink; in a choir’s hallelujah, ringing bells and...

She holds open ruptured bags as I heave loads of coloured leaves into their crinkled, paper mouths like a backhoe dropping dirt into a...

Breath is the bridge which connects life to consciousness, which unites your body to your thoughts. – Thich Nhat Hanh My muses must have...

I’ll sign my pseudonym to your confession, echo expletives in overture, regretting the passing through birth canals, staging reenactments...

The steeple bell from the Anglican church chimes every 15 minutes, doing a double at the bottom of the hour, and nothing short of a...

Yes, yours was the most unusual of reasons, to avoid the city playgrounds, the parks where noisy children race amok. One of these little...

got to pay your dues if you want to sing the blues –Ringo Starr I’m melancholy enough to sing the blues. There’s surely no shortage of...

I, more stolidly, tend to suspect that God is a novelist — a garrulous and deeply unwholesome one too. – Martin...

The backyard birds have competition. I came here to hear them, their morning melody, rousing like a symphony with a wind-blown branch as...

You sense I'm not impressed with your selection. It's antique, you say and British at that. I will not be seen on such a bicycle as...

“Then God made two great lights: the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night” — Genesis 1:16 No one writes...

by drowning in the Pacific, not because it’s pleasant, (like dying in my sleep during some subconscious, midnight reverie), this...