Poems and Stories

Friday, November 10, 2017

Who needs Twitter?

Thanksgiving 2017

New grandchild, sex unknown
Coming into a loving home
Three boys waiting,
New house from 1780
Blessings exceed dreams now
Grandda in waiting


Thursday, November 9, 2017

Salt Seller

The Salt Seller
There was a man who had salt for sale
He dug it out of a salt pond beach
His customers were poor and sad
and his price far out of their reach.

So he gave it away until all was gone
and went back to the beach for more
But it started to rain and he lost all his salt
and so did his customers poor.

If he had a hut or at least a shelter
He could save the salt for all
The neighbors saw his vision too
So they started with just a wall.

His friends and customers all stepped up
and each brought a stick, a brick or a stone
The pantry was built and the salt was saved
With God’s help, one is never alone.


written to bring attention to needs of the hungry

The Bag Lady of Maine

The Bag Lady of Route One.

The road was widened
but she never knew
her life would end
when the job was through.

She had walked Route One
along the shore
Everyone knew her
but now they learned more.

She was just the Bag Lady
with her backpack of red
Faster traffic
But now she was dead.

The truck blew by
and honked as it passed her
She was knocked over the rail
Traffic now went much faster

She was not missed
for three more days
Her routine was erratic
Each day a new phase

We expected to see her
on Sunday mornings in Fall
At 7:21
She would walk past Whitehall.

The plan was to expand
Route One to be...wider
Cutting the ancient tree down
and most things beside her.

But the tree was her safe place
as the traffic flew by
When it was cut down
She had no place to hide.

The funeral was small
the service was brief
Just a few of the locals
Stopped by to share grief

They barely knew her
But the minister did
and he shared her sad story
and told of her kid

She had a full and rich life
along the midcoast
With a husband and son
who loved her the most.

They walked Route One together
from the beach to the town.
Laughing and joking
Until the car cut them down

She lived but they died
Now she will not ride in a car
She walks by herself
Miles do not seem that far

When your lonely and alone
There is not much to say
So she kept to herself
and she died the same way.

Why widen a road
that is scenic and rare?
It will not be safer
with shoulders so bare.

Lets re-think this plan
and let everyone know
that wider is not better
and its better to go slow.

Lincolnville Beach

Sunday, September 24, 2017

Pain is My Muse

Pain is my muse.  when I am in pain, I write.
not now...I am in too much pain
from two broken wrists.

Sunday, September 3, 2017

Every Town...An Island

What if every town was an island?
All shopping done right here
No money being spent away
No corporate takeover fear.

We would have to eat at Donna’s
“Coffee, eggs and ham” for you?
No Starbuck latte’s sold in town
We’re fine with Donna’s brew.

You need a car? See Frank in town
At “Smiley’s Lot” on Main
I traded in my Jeep (still there)
It only leaks in rain.

The banks would have to go along
And lend us what we need.
We’d pay them back with wages
Earned at “Barney’s Grain & Feed”.

Barney’s wife works in the store
Where we shop for chicken thighs
From “Tilly’s Free Range Chicken Farm”
Not quite Tyson’s size.

The money stays on the island friends
There is no place else to spend it.
Besides it all comes back again
To those who spend and lend it.

We’d have to find the leaks for sure
Like buying stuff “on line”
Instead of at the local shops
Like “Mabel’s Five and Dime”.

I guess it will never happen
But we could make a start
By buying local first instead
And shopping with your heart.

Last Dawn

Last Dawn

We miss the sun
It won't be back
The beach is empty
White with frost, seaweed black.

The clock of time
We missed our chance
to save our planet
no next time.

The sun never came up
so it couldn't go down.
We walked to town
everyone's gone.

Two foxes appeared
at our back door again
hungry, exhausted,
We took them in.

We shared the last
of the bread we baked
and the water we hauled
from a frozen lake.

The wind picked up
The power went out
Four of us huddled

under a blanket...peace-out.