Sometimes small towns can captivate us. They can have the right combination of history, art, shops, and people. This about a small town in Pennsylvania, that my wife and I enjoy.


I like Lititz.

Hand crafted chocolate,

red caboose museum,

no shops with pick pockets

reaching for you money.

A small, classy hotel,

a café.

Pizza and subs down the street,

a barber shop,

people without plastic,

they seem real instead.

Ducks in the fountain and crosswalks,

faithful bricks,

large church in the middle.

I can still hear the history,

of fireplaces crackling,

with sincerity and truth,

and community.

I pray the flame never goes out.

I like Lititz.


© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

Love Poem

Love Poem

We went shopping for an iron

that day, and bought a ring.

Two lost souls,

looking at each other eye to eye,

rubbing noses together.

Blankets and a kitchen,

cars with high mileage now,

and yet, she still rubs my back,

and I melt.

I give her treasure from the deep blue sea.

She rubs her fingers through my hair,

and blinds me – with herself,

I run into walls just looking at her.

30 years later the store is still there,

selling irons.

And we are still rubbing noses together.



© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

The Smell of the Earth

The Smell of the Earth

Today my daughter replanted

an African Violet, hands a mess,

smile on her face.

She said she loved the smell of dirt.

It’s true, the smell is intoxicating.

In the city there is potting soil,

the burbs have top soil,

but the earth I really like,

is the freshly plowed field of a farm,

especially after a light rain.

If you ever have a chance,

take a deep breath of this earth,

enjoy the richness,

until you are drunk.

It will do your soul good.


© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

Talking with an Eagle

Talking with an Eagle

I was on the top of the mountain,

enjoying the air, and the view,

houses the size of ants,

and with problems so small.

I saw him coming, from the right

out of the corner of my eye,

then in front of me, soaring, looking at me

wearily, he said: “Not another tourist!”

I got angry, and shook my fist at him,

I said, “I heard that!”

He continued soaring to my left,

and screeched some unintelligible words.

Flying behind me,

to the other side of the mountain.

I sat down on a rock, undaunted,

until he came around again,


he said: “Go back!”

“Go back to your nice warm house”

It was snowing then,

soaring towards the left he added,

“and to your people!”

I yelled back, “I can live here too!”

I knew it was dumb, as soon as I said it.

Then he was gone – around, behind me,

to the other side of the mountain.

I sat back, against a rock, perplexed,

flakes on my nose, and parka.

He came around again from the right,

This time he landed silently on a tree limb,

brown with white, and looked at me.

I stood up and crossed my arms. And waited,

my hat becoming white.

He presented his argument,

he brought up some good points.

I just stood there and then –  I let go,

“Alright”, I said, not really meaning it.

I started back down the trail, stomping,

back to this messed up world,

and back to my people,

thousands of feet,

thousands of steps,

thousands of problems,

grumping the whole time,

slipping on a white rock.

When I got to the base of the mountain,

I looked up and there he was, soaring, and gloating,

as if to say, “I can fly and you cannot”.

I made my way back to the car,

anger melting the snow,

and started the engine. Heater on.

I realized in my heart though

he was right.

So I put the car in drive

and headed back to this messed up world,

and back to my people.

The snow was coming down heavy then.







© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

The Billy Goat Trail

The Billy Goat Trail

Sharp and jagged rocks,

imbedded in the trail, hard to walk,

easily bruised.

Sprained ankles,


Circling round to the river,

resting, and eating.

Drinking in the air,

People leave quickly though

and say, “back to the trail”.

Using the river like caffeine,

no thanks – no more for me,

sprained ankles…moving on,

face down.

The trail is not my path,

I need to be here –

where water is in the air,

with sounds of the rocks

being washed,

and peace, living here

where there are no bruises.

The people are yelling at me…

“C’mon, we need to go…”

I tell them go without me,

all I need is 5 more hours….

maybe longer…

of being washed by the river.



© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

She Loved Me

She Loved Me

An eternal hug,

instead of love in a jar

slowly turning the lid

to let out a little at a time.

She revealed herself to me,

scared I would see who she is.

She ran

I chased her,

we fell down together in the snow,

clean, and laughing,

we were new,

Not perfect,

but she loved me

and overcame her fear.


© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree