In search of story


Connections: September 7.17

What delicacies, what midnight snacks

are snugly hid away

to be brought out like popcorn

some barren winter day?


What culinary splendor

brined since last July

will extol in mid-December

the art of putting-by?


I recall our cellar of yore

almost as dark and dank

and I think I don’t want to know more

of what’s in their food bank.



More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.





Connections: July 24.17

Maybe you remember

my Christmas tree mishap

when it toppled over

and flattened carpet nap.

Family ingenuity

perhaps aesthetics-free

brought it back to standing

with pragmaticality.

And now my poor tomato

bowed by wind and rain

lists like my old tree

risking break and sprain.

So whether Yule tradition

or heavy-laden vine

when the question comes from listing

the answer comes from twine.






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Connections: April 7.17

Oh, nippéd bud,

of thee I sing,

poor little cringing

misshapen thing!

Frost’s cruel fang

hast bit thy head

and left the blood

a darkened red.

Thy brothers and sisters

in sad disarray

look equally puny,


How now, spring?

What mischief this?

whither the photo

for our synthesis?



Connections: March 17.17

The shade that’s cast by brick and steel

cannot in peace compare

to shade endowed by green —

susurrous emerald air.

It cools the soul and slows the heart

pares our excess ways

says “only this” and makes us stop

to gather up our somedays.

May green be yours, dear reader,

though winter’s not quite gone;

may you see some signs of springtime

and catch a leprechaun.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, dear reader!

With a shillelagh salute to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives,

Vernon Hill Gallery.