Poem: The Deception of Collapse


The Deception of Collapse

The walls stand. Little else does.
The roof has fallen in.
The floors have collapsed.
Not a shard of glass remains.
The rain falls. The rubble rots. But

As long as one wall,
one brick of the foundation remains,
there is rebuilding to be done.
Possibilities, small as they are, exist.

The work will be slow.
Do not deceive yourself.
It will be painful.
Do not deceive yourself.

But do not deceive yourself:
It is possible.

About this poem

My favorite quote is from Churchill. I have a small brass plaque on my desk I see every day. “Never, ever, ever, give up.”.  It has sustained me through many a dark time.

The picture is of an old factory in Turner’s Falls, Mass.


Poem: Victories of the Day


Victories of the Day

The chaise calls you
and you yearn to answer,
to lie by the windows
and let your mind wander far into the clouds,
to think of greatness and possibility.
Deep thoughts. Spiritual thoughts.
On Eagles Wings thoughts, but
it is too early and
you know the reality.
You know the danger,
for it is too soon from the morning’s first battle.
You are awake in this moment,
fighting past the darkness of the morning,
but not far enough away
that it cannot swallow you again.

So you will walk past the calling couch.
For all it’s beauty and comfort,
it is not for you.
There are things to do, battles to fight,
and until the day is nearly done there will be time
to rest, safe in the victories of the day.

About this morning. 

I am in some ways, a creature of another era. Despite how I make much of my living with technology, I do my best work when I am allowed to sit and think. Good old fashioned thinking. That’s when my clients get their money’s worth.

But not too early in the morning. If I stop early in the morning, my depression wins. So thinking is best left for late in the day, and at night. Mornings and days are for action. I like to stack my victories before I rest. That’s what works.


Poem: Off Color

Hartford NY 4

Off Color

You feel suddenly off season,
like finding leaves bright and orange
in April, or
azaleas blooming bright and fuschia
in the midst of February.
The colors are wrong,
not bad,
just wrong, suddenly changed,
like in a dream gone mad,
full of characters and landscapes,
far too bright, too vibrant, too loud
to navigate. Your maps,
cultivated and well marked
from a lifetime of travel,
are of no use here.

It is unsettling, yes,
but if you are honest
there is excitement in it,
a touch of youth
with all it’s energy and uncertainty,
with it’s sense of flagrant possibility.
Never mind your old bones
that move slow in the morning,
or your mind, suddenly one step behind
with these unexpected seasons,

You laugh at the thought
of never being quite sure, realizing
that more than likely,
you never were.

About this poem

Three of my most used software packages did major updates this weekend. As always I hated it at first, preferring to just be able to do the work rather than having to relearn. I always feel sluggish when my favorite tools become something else, just as I do when major things in my life change. And there has been a lot of change in the last year.

But you get past it, learn the new landscape of life, and ultimately revel in it’s joys…. till the next time.