While Walking My Dog’s Ghost


O at the Edges


While Walking My Dog’s Ghost

I spot a baby rabbit
lying still in a clump of grass
no wider than my hand.

It quivers, but I pretend
not to have seen, for fear
that the dog, ghost or not,

will frighten and chase it
into the brush, beyond
its mother’s range,

perhaps to become lost
and thirsty, malnourished,
filthy, desperate, much

like the dog when we
found each other that hot,
dry evening so long ago.


This first appeared here in September 2016.

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#SoCS – Shortcut of my Youth


In what was the little town of Newmarket, Ontario, where I grew up (it’s a city now, so don’t go there looking for something quaint) there is a small lake, called Fairy Lake. It really was never much more than a place where the river got wider, I realize now, but something tells me it used to be much more.

Every day, I walked to school from my house on Lundy’s Lane, up Red Deer Street to Patterson Street where both my primary and secondary schools were approximately situated. I walked that way except when I took the shortcut. You see, there is (or probably was, now) a large storm sewer under Red Deer with a teeny tiny creek running through it. I used to catch crayfish there and keep them in a bucket on the front steps of my house until they died. (I was a horrible child, looking…

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You can’t always get what you want.


You can’t always get what you want.

A Poem by Coyote Poetry


Just words


You can’t always get what you want.

Johnnie and Susanna were singing the Roller Stone song. ” You can’t always get what you want, but sometimes we get what we need. Me and Suzanna sitting together at the Irish Pub on the Monterey pier. She was a long-time poet friend trying to change my mind about love and life.

She was an auburn beauty, long-legged, tanned and she had fierce brown eyes. We met every Thursday for a year and a half. Ladies night at the Irish Pub every Thursday. Two-dollar mix drinks for the ladies and two-dollar Long Island ice teas till nine for the men. The great drinkers, dreamers and lonely folks gathered looking for some conversation and some company.

Susanna , she told me. Love is just myth and tale. Yesterday memories and…

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