Canyons in Me
Good Mo(u)rning
From Tick to Tock: The Tocker's Beat, A Lenten Poem
The Chink Wrinkle
see the cloud
fog or cloud?
Prayer Before Contact (an ode to Mom)
Lessons on Less & More
The Primeval Whirl of Writing Prose
3 see
w.e.b. darwin
Canyons in Me
Canyons in Me

why question who I become?

a canyon of lives span in me.

having their wisdom,

having their diversity,

having their years,

is how my life is Grand.

poem by Gregory C. Ellison II (words by Luther Smith)

Good Mo(u)rning
Good Mo(u)rning

when birds fly above, but near, water

and time, past and future, moves

where the ancestors forgive

Poem by Dr. Helen P. Smith (Words by Gregory C. Ellison II)

From Tick to Tock: The Tocker's Beat, A Lenten Poem
From Tick to Tock: The Tocker's Beat, A Lenten Poem

What happens when I lose sight of what makes me TICK?

Then, do I have to grease the wheels of my TICKer?

So, I search to find my TICKer, to grease neglected wheels,

but is it in my chest or somewhere deeper, a mystery I feel?

Beyond my heart I hear a grumble, a grinding if you will.

I hear NO tick, NO tick, NO tick…

Yet, a deep low TOCK; it makes me still.

With the stillness of the TOCK, I take stock of my ticker.

In the darkness of the the deep, the TOCKs grow louder, they grow quicker.

Perhaps, the gears weren’t clunky, a malfunction there was not.

Could my ticker now be a TOCKer,

from the heart to soul it dropped?

How must I care for a beating heart,

when a soul now animates life?

I must not live with ticker tightness,

or the flutter of family playing fife.

I need my ticker pumping amidst

judgment, envied strife. so, be still

In the darkness of the grumble, I hear the Clockmaker clearly say

“Greg, you must trust your TOCKer to plod a path, a way,

To live and love and learn from life beyond the fettered fray.

Your gears have not malfunctioned, but you must live different now.

Your clock TOCKs on kairos time from only which I endow.”

The Chink Wrinkle
The Chink Wrinkle

There’s a wrinkle in my pant leg,

it bothers me a lot

Not a green inked stain or

Knee-ripped hole or

Botched bleach colored blot

A tiny wrinkle, oh so little,

18 inches above the shin

Can’t walk it out or

Pat it out

It’s cotton-welded in

i’m self concious of its placement

even on this isolated street

From the board room table,

i see it,

Though i’m sitting in a seat

Few others care as much of fashion,

their attire is wrinkle-clad

But their looks of judgment pierce my thigh

Now, i’m limping and fucking mad!

Could this wrinkle be a chink in my armor

for them to deal a crushing blow?

If so, this ain’t just a wrinkle

if so, if so, if so….

Some pants I send to cleaners,

others i iron with great care

How did this chink wrinkle get beyond my gaze?

Perhaps, I feel threadbare

Yes, I’m tired.

So, tired I ironed in the dark

My covering now compromised

at threat,

my loves,

my life,

my heart

Tomorrow, I’ll don new pants

the chink wrinkle may be invisible to

plain sight

But, judging eyes will cripple

til I iron in the light

“Take great care to cover

your loves,

your life,

your heart.

And, forgive your self for vanity,”

Thine Ironmaker doth impart.

G. Ellison II

28 March 2019

see the cloud
see the cloud
fog or cloud?
fog or cloud?

there i sat

fog rolled in

it covered me

swallowed me


i saw it from afar

invited it close

misty depression?


no. not quite, greg


we are


to cover you

shower you

make you


Prayer Before Contact (an ode to Mom)
Prayer Before Contact (an ode to Mom)

With eyes widened,

she anticipated collision before contact.

Unbelting from the passenger's seat,

she bolted from the unparked car.

Before a single foot touched ground, 

"Please Jesus..." echoed from her heart.

It happened so suddenly...

One moment, I'm gripping handle bars.

The next, I'm wedged under a white sports car.

Out of the corner of my eye, my ten-speed crumpled like papier mache.

Above me, my teary-eyed mother.

3-inch band aids covered my scratches, my scrapes.

3 weeks she walked alimp because of the ankle sprained in her sprint.

For all my life, she prayed before contact and gave selflessly for me and mine.

Thank you, Mom. With love, GE2

Mother's Day 2017


Lessons on Less & More
Lessons on Less & More

A Holy Saturday Benediction for My Love

In times when I feel empty,

I'm learning to see the fullness of life.

On occasion, when life is all too full,

I'm learning to seek the solace of sanctuary.


Empty and Full our lives will be.

I'm learning there is wisdom in both.


Let Us Be That Something_Poetry Reading with Mari Evans

In loving memory of one of my best friends... my sister-teacher, Mari Evans

Celebration_Poetry Reading with Mari Evans

In loving memory of my best friend and sister-teacher, Mari Evans

The Primeval Whirl of Writing Prose
The Primeval Whirl of Writing Prose

Musings on the Writing Process

3 see
3 see
w.e.b. darwin
w.e.b. darwin

In the fog &
in the night
there comes a sense
of second sight
the gift of gab to rouse the bear
and calm the mouse with gentle care
in the cave, i hibernate
& to the mouse hole i escape
in neither place do i find home
to lay my head
i am the lone
then to the treetops I retreat
unfurl my wings in nested seat
adaptation is the key
not second sight
but I have three.

Copyright 2016 GE II & Associates