Growing up in as rich a language environment as I did in the pre-TV 1950s, I was a pushover for the Muse. I know TV was around by then, but my sainted father didn’t allow the idiot box into his household until I was 6, by which time language, the architecture of reason, had command of my mind. That’s not to say there’s not a couch potato in me – there most assuredly is, but already by the age of 6, I was so in love with the people, places, and things of the real world, that TV reality, such as predominates today, was fit mostly for rainy days, and hockey nights in Canada!
I’ve divided my poems with a blunt instrument that collects them in three groups that are likely to leak into each other: Perceptions, Observations, and Ars Poetica. I hope you may find amusement here while the band plays out there, where they rearrange the deckchairs on the not-so-good ship America.