And We Stopped Talking


When you found yourself, we stopped talking.

When I showed myself, we stopped talking.

When you felt your needs, we stopped talking.

When I showed your fears, we stopped talking.

Expectations, guilt, suspicion, and we stopped talking.


Tell me,

That’s alright.

Tell me,

It’s okay.

Tell me,

Forget it.

Tell me,

It doesn’t matter.

Tell me,

You won’t understand.

Tell me,

You don’t care.

Tell me,

I CAN’T!!!


Perhaps we never talked.

Perhaps I told and you listened.

There are no second chances.

You talk to others now, and they listen.

It’s their chance to know.

What I know is forever and complete.

And you will never know me.

I always told – we never talked.


I despair to know that some do talk.

They say they do, I hope not.

If there is a way, don’t tell me.

There are no second chances.


Will he or won’t he

She thought day after day.

Marriage was so near, yet so far away.

Autumn fell to winter then

Spring burst in the air.

Their love was still burning

But why was there still fear.

To those who went before them

Such fear is not unique.

To love is very simple

To marry is to seek,

A lover and perhaps a friend

A partner who can pretend

To show no pain despite the ache,

And long for rest yet stay awake.

To make a vow, and take an oath

To be just one, but cherish both.



Jones Beach Blues



GW Bridge is kinda slow.
Only place the car can go.
Three dollar toll for just one mile.
Toll collectress just can’t smile.
I Got The Jones Beach Blues

Whitestone or the Throgs Neck bridge
Which span will it be.
Two bucks,twenty -five, no difference to me.
I Got the Jones Beach Blues.

We’re doing 60 for one-half mile.
Then 55 for quite a while.
The cars begin to rubber neck.
A smokey and a caddy wreck.
I Got the Jones Beach Blues.

Down the road we travel on,
N.Y. cities’ come and gone.
The L.I.E. is up ahead.
We rap on about the “Dead”.
I Got the Jones Beach Blues.

All those cars just full of meat.
To the beach to beat the heat.
The L.I.E.’s a parking lot,
Just saw a Vette a-smoking pot.
I Got the Jones Beach Blues.

The sign reads Jones Beach on the right.
Take the Meadowbrook, we’re both uptight.
The drives been long and mighty hot.
Ya gotta love the beach alot.
I Got the Jones Beach Blues.

Three – fifty more and the ocean’s mine.
That will leave us just a dime.
I Got the Jones Beach Blues.

We rip on thru the toll booth lite,
Lot # 4 – its outta sight.
The crowd is huge – the beach is packed.
Boxes boom – Hey grease my back!
I Got the Jones Beach Blues.

We get some rays – a coke and beer.
Our Jones Beach day until next year.
I Got the Jones Beach Blues.


And Then I Smile

A melody, a meringue dancer, collage peppers, elbow macaroni with gruyere, or a glass of Gallo Hearty Burgundy, and the tears gather behind my eyes.

Our garden, your stock of silks, wool’s, bobbins and Vogue Patterns.

All provoke images of your face. Images that are rarely complete yet totally consuming.

The bird feeder, the marauding squirrels, and the wall of photos all command your presence.

Our meals are yours – your taste, your mouth and your style.

Your clothes fill the dresser and closet, and I smell them. I remember your smell.

How I love your smell, and the incredible softness of your skin.

The tears gather just behind my eyes.

And France is you. And music and your voice and your laugh bring tears to my eyes.

But only for me to feel and no one to see.

The tears pool and search for release. They flow back and forth behind my eyes.

And then…and then I smile. I don’t see you, but I feel you, and I smile.

My tears leave the back of my eyes and I smile.