I am a local poet. I write Local Poetry. Much of it is about the weather. Like the weather, you may enjoy some, none, or all of it.

This website contains the bulk of the work I have done over the years. Early on, there were occasional outbursts of chapbooks, self-published or done with the help of friends. From 1985 on, all my poems have gone into a continuous project I call  Account of My Days.

A friend once said of my poems, "they're like you, but only the good part of you." Other parts show through, too, by evasion and obsession and obvious limitations. The poems form no coherent narrative. They may represent failure, and I claim the right to include some clearly bad poems--I fear perfection as I fear death.

Why publish at all? Words spill from us, written and spoken. A careless babble surrounds us, fills in spaces in our lives not designed by nature to hold so much language. We could stand to be interrupted and told to hold our peace. The flood of words rises, we think we can swim in it, no one feels the need for self-restraint, the noise of it troubles the sleep of the gods. Why add to the hubbub? I answer as someone else has done in a similar situation:  I have precedents.

Poetry has been close to me since childhood, and I thank here all who have furthered my obsession, my joy, my work.