say a little prayer

perhaps I should genuflect
light a candle
mumble something holy
but when the night terrors come
to this private vault
we call consciousness
only my dog can hear me
be near me
comfort this old skin
so I say a little prayer for him
and whisper I’m ok

[first posted Jan 8, 2016]


hands open
hands close
hands give expression to the soul

and if I lose the use of mine
what value then will be my life

so I shall play arpeggios while I can
broken chords
like spokes upon a wheel

none of these notes mean a single thing
but bring me joy

if temporary
all things are temporary

except for one

a few million elegies 

on the death
of dopaminergic neurons
in the substantia nigra
pars compacta
resulting in the condition
commonly known
as Parkinson’s Disease
there is no known cause
and no known cure

I’ll be up late again
I have a few million elegies
to write

3 x 13

the day is pale with frost
birds huddle together on the wire
like paid mourners

the nurse told me I had mild concussion
and let me go
thirteen stitches seemed unlucky

that was thirty-nine years ago
three times thirteen
I do the sum
I count the cost

the day is pale with frost
birds huddle together on the wire

thirteen of them

meaningful gaps

spaces appeared on the shelves
as the time of departure drew near
reminding me of when you first arrived
to draw back the curtains
and flood the place with light

so too
intervals in conversation
as symptoms grew worse
speech harder

now through a chink in the curtains
only a thin strip remains
of the day

I pull them together and withdraw
to the meaninglessness
of sleep


in the old days
I used to heal life’s little ills
by imagining a secluded garden
where I took restorative waters
from an old brass cup

these days
I’m at the Chelsea Flower Show
drinking from a golden chalice

Bell Lane 3

walking in discomfort down Bell Lane
I finally accept my infirmity 
with this responsibility 
I am no longer its victim

dark and cloudy the sky
but the hills are ablaze with lights
finding my feet once again
in Bell Lane

lake placid in the fall

when mobility goes
the mind becomes an ocean
frightening at first
but with practice
growing placid

lake placid in the fall
somewhere I had never been before
till last night
as I lay helpless
upon a hard wood floor

the limit

I was told today by a nurse
to be aware of my limitations

there is a place on the outskirts of town
called “The Limit”

I come to it regularly on my runs

beyond it lies green fields
and the gleam on the horizon

that’s where I’m headed
when the talking is done