In your mind you hear words snarling all day long but no poem arrives. The words are locked

First leaves of autumn. Slow parachutes this morning almost at the curb. Donal Mahoney

“Quiet, please,” I tell her, “I want to hear the music.” She is sitting next to me again, this time on a paisley couch, a woman in a lime bikini I met

The old man crossing the street has a bad limp we try to ignore. No one wants to look

Been in trouble all my life childhood through old age. I took the alleys

If you write with a quill, ballpoint pen or typewriter, you’re a lucky soul. But if you use a computer and write far better than

Fifty years ago Jane got on a plane and flew away without saying good-bye. Her parents took her, I know.

If the goal of business is to make a profit and it is—and if the goal of government is to take care of people

The old poet has agreed to read his poems in Hanley Hall if a student will push his wheelchair on stage. Agreed. And students must agree not to ask

Snow on Christmas Day. As I walk out with bird seed birds cry Santa’s here. Donal Mahoney

I bring a milkshake every other we… to an old man in a nursing home, a refugee from Germany who paid me 50 cents to cut his grass when I w… a kid in Chicago after WWII.

On the table by the window balanced on its spine this leaflet butterfly open and still as a

You think he’d be more grateful. Neither rich nor poor he’s never wanted for anything. He’s always had what he needs but never had any gratitude

The Downy is the smallest flicker but his arrival is uninvited and disturbs the hummingbirds circling in fury while he with bravado