Life With Horace

poetry & essays

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top of the eighth

numbers (have) never mattered
no importance given,
celebration while rome danced
the very thing,
my road stretched out ahead
endless to the next rise.
today I pause to count
and though the exit sign
is out of sight and mind
I sense it up ahead.
memo to the fates
you are heard and understood,
but while
music is in my blood
and on my tongue,
words spring from my hand
to shout upon the page,
light and color unshutter joy,
there is love to fill me up
and to return without reserve,
my legs strive to scale the heights
and cover distance yet again,
the tendrils of my soul
reach out to wetlands
and woodland heartbeats
in the company of birdsong,
my flesh can still be
branded by a lover’s hand
to summon undiminished ecstasy,
why then, oh yes
I am most certainly alive,
not just living, treading time
but riding it full throttle
to the very end

my daughter with Eddie


Lioness still

You think you know,
what you will feel,
but no it is impossible
the first time,
even with a child
you carry, part of you.
The fierce love comes
in waves of tenderness
letting down like milk
and never stops.
With each new step
from stone to anchored stone
across life’s flow,
strength to strength, joy to joy,
my heart follows, watching,
knowing only pride
as she runs on, lioness also,
my firstborn.

For my daughter, on her birthday