I follow my shoreline
it leads me to you,
a trip traveled
in this unraveled mind.
No distance too great,
no thought too small,
for through it all
we count on all we’ve
encountered. Slow and steady
we pace, and face our
obstacles with confidence.
Let it be known, we have grown
in friendship poetically
and without a frenetic stance,
this mutual “roamance” of words
brings us to the same place
in thoughts familiar
and somewhat familial,
my survival depends
on us as friends till the end.
Follow my shoreline.




path through lake

No bridge connects my shore with yours
No street connects respective doors
Poetic spirits formed a link
That triggered large expanse to shrink

The child within comes out to play
And rhyming couplets pave the way
Where hearts enjamb and meters fall
We relish this poetic trawl.

Marie Elena

Photo Credit:  Keith R. Good


A voice echoing my words and feelings
across the lake it comes softly,
hauntingly familiar. I know her.
I’ve never met her. But her sound echoes,
a placid refrain nestling eerily in my brain.
Her fears are mine. Her joys too!
Always at the ready with a heady rebuke,
or an endearing worded embrace;
compassion and grace are hers
and she shares their effect gladly.
Sadly, we are two who have never
seen eye to eye to confirm that my reply
matches hers – and hers, mine.
A true sign of friendship that was planted
and is tended daily and weekly,
meekly surrendering to her wisdom
and her Good-ness. It is witnessed
in each poetic ponderance;
caught in this metered dance, taking
every chance to let her know
how much I continue to grow
through her nurturing gentility.
Nothing to fear or loathe;
a heart of gold. Clear and present.
A dear and pleasant stranger.



A writer. A comrade. A poet.
A friend and confidant.
Always there with the words I need,
or the support I want.
Star-crossed rhymers, meeting at a time
where neither was sure that poetry would cure
all that ailed our aching hearts,
but finding a nugget of truth
in the gems we penned and shared one April.
A genuine thrill to see she was reading me,
and me she. You see, right out we had doubts
that our muses could fit the bill. And still
we have times where that self-doubt flourishes
and nourishes our retreat from our precious poetry.
But it was she that brought me into focus,
this blooming crocus in Spring’s early journey
into rhymed reason. The right season to bloom.
Soon, we discovered that our commonality lay
in the mass of murkiness that masquerades as
a Great Lake, eerie in it’s coincidence.
In every incident, our stories intertwined,
one mind writing two different points of view.
Between me and you, she saved me as a poet
and a person, pulling as I said, from the gates
of a hellacious place in my life. Battling
a wife, and disease and the loss of a friend so dear,
she was always “here”. With a worded smile,
a comforting haiku hand on my shoulder,
and help lifting all boulders from said same.
In a name, “the best friend I’ve never met”,
you can bet I have been blessed. As you can see,
what’s not to love about our Marie?



One of the quintuplets nestled,
dividing countries and states.
Friendship awaits at every crash
of lunacy’s pull. Waves across the water,
shore-to-shore in a connection,
eerie and complete. We join daily
in an exchange of written wonder,
falling under its spell.
Person-to-person, Toledo-to-Buffalo,
on opposing shores a kinship blooms.