Wednesday, January 23, 2008


All thanks to Christine for her use of her Charitable In-Box for Wayward Creative Writing Students, and to Ian for his gung-ho willingness to wade through my revisions.

He has told no one his story, but I already know it.
He is Odysseus, our cunning Champion! But in this world,
After restless wanderings through desperate taverns and roads’ end motels,
He awakes tossed upon a forlorn shore and finally understands:
There is no Penelope. There is no Ithaca.

He landed here tonight, a washed-up old salt
Who now meekly sips hot chocolate, smokes a cigarette, and
Dreams of a distant port-of-call where he met a woman
Long ago who told him something about love he’s now forgotten.
His reverie is battered by the churning chaos of cafĂ© conversations–
An auditory Charybdis splashing from so many satisfied mouths.

The door’s bell cries complacently and the night’s gaping jaws
Swallow him until his hunched silhouette, solitary,
Becomes but a snow-obscured spectre
Haunting the warm reflections of contented patrons.


  1. I once wrote a massive paper for RS. My prof made a few notes here and there, a few tiny corrections in his tiny signature scrawl, and then wrote on the front of the paper in red ink: V.V. Good. I don't have any red ink but you get the idea. Very nice job, lady and it was an honor.

  2. Thank you so much! Feedback: musician's bane, writer's joy. You are too kind.