It is with a heavy heart that I update this post.

Holding My Friend to a Promise (originally posted 12/9/24)

For over thirty years my friend Robert Milby has been reading his poetry throughout the Hudson Valley, NYC, Long Island, NJ, PA, and New England. An engaging speaker, Robert has made 1,500 public appearances and has done hundreds of readings, open mics, lectures, presentations, participated in radio commentary and festivals, and has been spotlighted on independent tv shows. Robert has shared his enthusiasm and poetic talents through reading and writing workshops in schools and culture centers and has been a guest poet at higher educational institutions. 

Robert’s numerous works have been included in magazines and anthologies. Add to his stellar resume and his four poetry books, his chapbook, Gothic, Orange was published through the County Historian’s office in 2018. He has been a Kirkus Reviewer, a “Best Poet” winner and a longtime Woodstock Poetry Society member. In 2017, Robert was honored with the title, Poet Laureate of Orange County, NY. His relentless devotion to poetry has never ceased. Until now.

Robert is battling stage IV pancreatic cancer. As a freelance writer, he has been unable to work for the past nine months. I understand this is a difficult time of year to ask for donations, but any amount you’re able to make will help Robert pay for his mounting medical expenses. (Go Fund Me link)

I would have given up reading my work in public, if not for Robert. His dedication and encouragement inspired me to share my own work beyond the written page. A deep-reader and researcher, Robert promised me that he’d share his voluminous knowledge of UFOs over coffee one day. I am holding him to that promise.

Thank you in advance for your generosity. (Go Fund Me link)

Bringing the Misfits Home

Bringing the Misfits Home
A Sentimental Christmas Memory

we embrace every relative
     load up the wagon, pack in tight and leap onto the highway
Staten Island to New Jersey
     chrome steeds try galloping past our Country Squire, but Dad fantasizes he’s lead stallion
from the rear-facing seat, I watch the mesmerizing herd of headlights
      trail farther and farther behind       
no other man (driving 90 miles an hour) will ever replace this depth of faith
     my fierce childhood possession, always

into the cold, dark Jersey night, we arrive home
       the V-8 shudders, the presents cushioning our sleepy heads rattle
       my little sister’s pigtails shift on my shoulder, I shake the bones to wake us up     
Tima’s barking gnaws the sleep crust from our eyes
        while we unpack every last ounce of Italian cheer and clamp our gifts
       beneath all available arms
my brothers, sisters and I march like weary soldiers across the snowy lawn  
       we trudge up the brick stoop and into our warm home
pajamas quickly managed, we mime brushing our teeth

       Mom tucks us in and kisses our cheeks with her smile brighter than winter
I surround myself with stuffed animals, swaddle in blankets
       and stare out my bedroom window to search for the blazing star of my picture books
      (I’ll later learn that I’d been praying to Venus all along)

tomorrow, like clockwork, Emile will stop at the corner of our street
       yell out in his mildly, terrified mailman voice, “WHERE’S TIMA?”
one of us will step into the cold to coax our hefty German shepherd
      away from her favorite place on the front stoop to bring her inside
      and just like that, Christmas is officially over

(Opening image, 1980 – Christmas Tree)
(Image directly above, 1980 – my little brother, Vito, me and our goofy shepherd, Rosie
Unfortunately, I couldn’t find an image of our childhood shepherd, Tima, a much more serious-minded shepherd )

Hope you’re all doing well ❤️
am:)