Norman Rockwell we are not.

Forget about that chicken in the pot.

Disguise the season in lots of lights

To cover up all the sound of fights.

Do the shopping on the run

While pretending it’s all a bunch of fun.

Norman Rockwell we are not

Next season comes,

I’m outta here in a trot.





Time is flowing,

in the act of moving

with segments created,

sluicing for golden nuggets

of special days.

Still Life


It looks like a still life,

motionless while it waits.

A still life changing into promises,


Hiding  secrets of change,

to create for a new day.


But, switch to a new life,

with promises waiting abound.

I look but can’t quite find it,

Something needs to be said,

yet I can’t hear a sound.

But, switch to a new life, with promises that abound