A quiet meditation — My eyes reflect Yemaya’s waters, and rest my troubles in the goddess’s hands. She is my closest ally, a peaceful confidant, feeling her presence in the glistening pearls of truth. Joined by a spirit, I praise her legacy, a guidepost of integrity, a resolution for things wounded and broken. Yemaya…

From therapy to becoming a writer — I told my wife to make my obituary short and sweet. A haiku would suffice: A crow of mischief Born out of brotherly love Retires to the sea No one knows me completely, not even my mother; rest her soul. I’m too cryptic for words. The best I can do…

I was made to join whether I liked it or not — When my mother died, I went to our old house to clean up. And in her closet, hanging on a wooden hanger, was an unwrinkled dark blue Cub Scout uniform just like I left it sixty years ago. The uniform had short sleeves and short blue pants. It had a blue woven belt with a gold snap buckle. It came with a yellow…

It came out of nowhere — The massive punch came out of nowhere — a flying knuckle sandwich that made a fist indentation in my stomach. I was nine years old and innocently throwing a pinkie ball against the wall, unaware that a stranger was approaching. …

Gaia’s peace and love — In the early morning, I hear the sounds of the goddess Gaia. The ocean echoes her love songs. The waves ripple with energy and carry her heroes, who bob and weave through cresting waters. I am lucky to have found this moment. I don’t need a camera to record it. I am part of…

I crack a smile when I feel like it — I’m tired of smiling to please others just because it’s the social thing to do — I don’t have to be nice to people I don’t like. If smiling is reciprocal — it’s easy, I don’t have to try. It comes naturally, like eating my favorite pasta or sipping a cherry soda…

I’m still trying to figure out John Lennon’s death — I remember the day John Lennon was shot in the chest. It was December 8, 1980. It happened inside the archway of the Dakota by a deranged fan holding a gun and a signed copy of the Double Fantasy album. My thoughts were — it’s bad enough our lives are…

Pictures of me blocking the light — Here’s my shadow in the desert with the sun at my back. Dry and dusty on a walking path outside of Palm Springs. My shadow proudly wore his Philadelphia Eagles 2016 NFC Championship cap. When I block the passage of light, I form a dark shape. That’s when my shadow…

And a link to the poem’s backstory — Stanley has just enough strength to pick up the potatoes. He dumps one burlap bag after another into a large bin, each Idaho with a different character and shape. The machine churns and catches a potato or two. They fall onto a rattling conveyor belt in the quiet darkness of the warehouse…