A Few Poems so Few will Read



we all need to see

I wanted more,

to feel the great sorrow, life torn away

fallen among pockmark ground,

hidden under a century of green,

grasping along trenches

richly nourished by the blood of youth.


I wanted to feel heroism, pride,

passion for the cause, for those lost

here and in dreams of those mourning,

I stood waiting for great shadows

surrounded in quiet woods, forever,

clinging to a moment of terror

tearing at the minds of the dead,

of me trying to be part of a scene passed


in a past of fire and fear,

of force and frailty, stolen breaths

whispering among ruins dripping tears

for those buried in walls and fields, weeping

for those never found to stack their bones

in tombs slowly seeping from the minds

of us here now, wanting more

of what they lost.

-dean in France May 2011



Owen, Ben, David & Rosie

a thief called Dementia

My little ones, so far away,
I will always love you,
I wish I always could

remember you,

but time has a way

to move us all so far away,

and even as this moment sparkles,

I forget just who you are.

Still, please remember me,

I will remember you,

if not just now, but always,

and when we meet again,

I will still be loving you,

my little ones.
-dean Dec 2018



When we pass again

after 45 years a coffee with David


A pleasant afternoon passed in the past

two old faces meeting in the same old places.

New stories of old names and times

jokes, jokers, treks, trekkers, adventures, seekers

rolling by over coffee and forgotten appointments.

This is moments well founded in two old faces,

knowing the world they share, sharing

the paths they’re on, each seeing the wisdom

of the journey, passed without the other

now forever traveling together, outside the expected

beyond the norm, poor in coin, rich in spirit

Forging to a future of reinvention, reboots.

To new places smiling old faces even

if they never pass again.

                                  -dean April 2019



The Last ?


Hoping that’s it for winter:

I stare in wonder, at the last sparkle

of the last winter storm.

The promise of spring

summer slumbers in 

the bare branches

hiding in sheets of white.

With winter’s work done

their turn will come.

It is at last beautiful.

                    -dean February 2019


On set

“making magic”


It is magic, just slower

than magic should be.

Long days stretching minutes

into long drawn hours.

Makeup, hair, wardrobe,

lights, sound, slate, rolling,


Seconds stretching over and over

through camera angles playing on angles

“reflecting light, that stops the night,

stretching to create the magic

that one day will turn days into seconds,

and “poof”, it is done.

                    -dean March 2018