Archive for the Sherwood Forest Category

A Short and Illustrated Thought #56

Posted in Main Pier, Photography, Severn River, Sherwood Forest, Sherwood Forest Pier, Uncategorized on January 29, 2014 by smpiv



Briny, lipid tide


Ripped skin


Humid dazed

Baked &



Sun bright &


Bare foot,

Bare chested


Willful & wanton

unmolested youth.


No diving.




A Short and Illustrated Thought #53

Posted in leaf, Photography, Severn River, Sherwood Forest on December 6, 2013 by smpiv

mamyia self portrait 1985


My passing

will be

written on leaves,

etched in bark,

& lost

to the wind.



A Short and Illustrated Thought #39

Posted in Photography, robin hood pier, Severn River, Sherwood Forest, Uncategorized on November 25, 2012 by smpiv

sandy toed
foot laid planks
sandy pilings sank
nettle nets
& wait.


winter toes
walk slow
misted breath
hangs low.


how does it go?
“A long walk
off a short pier”


this life.

A Short and Illustrated Thought #22

Posted in Cassiopeia, lightning bugs, Milky Way, Photography, Sherwood Forest on June 29, 2012 by smpiv

Brittle starlight,

the Milky Way

bent Cassiopeia,

the bucket bear


Lightning bugs

wink & wonder.

of darkness

not a care.


Tar hushed feet

addicted to youth,


gravities’ sluice


Master moon

splashes & twinkles

new bridge,

horizon bent.


Master moon

In time & in step

below bent  horizon



Time for bed

time for sleep

time for dreams

our depths abide.


Drag anchor foot

set over the side

a futile effort

to stem the tide.

A Short and Illustrated Thought #15

Posted in AM Radio, black coffee, chevy malibu, Malibu, Patsy Cline, Photography, Sherwood Forest, sunny, Toronto, Uncategorized, white perch, yellow perch on June 2, 2012 by smpiv

tree green light

promise limitless horizons,

dappled yellow marks a path

boundless roots burst concrete bark.


faces smooth for lack of trying

reflect sky blue

a sunny yellow glint on dewy eyes.


endless roads in a light blue Malibu,

pass under infinite dark skies

Patsy Cline from Toronto

on a skipping AM radio.


always mail on Saturday,

rain or shine

black burnt coffee to percolate

scrapple to fry,


yellow perch, white perch, lots of sunnys

nothing is wasted on the tide,

fish still swim free.

it’s what the heron sees.


It’s what I see.

A Collection of Short and Illustrated Thoughts #2

Posted in Boys of Sherwood, Cas, Hooker, Lumpy, Mono, Sherwood Forest, Uncategorized on May 8, 2012 by smpiv

The entrance for sand covered beach children,

The exit for illicit midnight rendezvous,

The cause of many bloody knees up or down,

The backsteps


Cas, Lumpy, Mono, Hooker, Scotty and on—

We would sit on the rail for hours

And bake in the sun.

We were the Boys of Sherwood.

We still are,

We just don’t sit as long.


The Senior Clubroom was a coming of age,

If fourteen can be called a coming of age.

We guarded it like a sacred object

And abused it like an old Volkswagen.


The invisible tiger roamed free,

The fence was never there.

My Mimi always feared for our safety.

Up went the fence and

So went the way of the tiger.


The reservoir sat protected on all sides by trees,

The wind passed high overhead.

When it froze it was like glass.

All shattered when the levy broke.

Fish were in the trees and mud everywhere,

But the frogs—where were the frogs?

I’ve always wondered what happened to the frogs.


The diving board is dedicated to Rick Cumberpatch,

Who died in Vietnam.

I don’t know how he died or when.

I don’t even know if he dove,

But I have always pictured him diving from that board—

Again and again.


I have seen the fall of so many things I thought eternal.

A Short and Illustrated Thought #9

Posted in Sherwood Forest on April 28, 2012 by smpiv

Don’t tell me,

I didn’t ask.

How far is the Moon?

How deep is the sea?


Why did the Titanic sink?

What did Judge Crater think?

Don’t tell me,

I didn’t ask.


I don’t want to know,

Some things are best left unsaid.

Dan Cooper?

Amelia Mary Earhart?


This I know,


The sun comes up,

The moon pulled down.

The leaves will fall,

A tree left bare to winter air.

The seasons’ whisper never loud.


How deep is the sea?

How far is the Moon?

I only ask in passing,

But please don’t tell,


I really don’t need to know.