Every word is brokenhearted,
As the style book is in mourning
All the crafted prose now yields
To random, blithering, noise.

Every byline now is grieving,
in honor of your passing,
And so the words fell down,
feeling no one’s left to edit
the last magnificent chapter,
of the story of your times.

Yet in your last edition,
Your loving, knowing soul
still wrote a final tale,
Not with words but by spirit,
and the virtue of resilience,
And in the final chapter
you stated clearly for us all:

Each life is so much grander
than the shadow of its death!

So now the words are gone,
yet let the game continue.
As I promised you so recent
So I promise to you still:

We are not yet done.

shooting baskets
and the breeze,

then fleeing with a leap
the sorrowed ground below,

My brother!

We will meet once more
at the rim.


My friend, my brother: Stephen Szkotak
My friend, my brother: Stephen Szkotak



Every Word is Brokenhearted

2 thoughts on “Every Word is Brokenhearted

  • 2016/06/13 at 8:35 pm

    Mike, your “poem” is truly a fine and eloquent tribute to Steve…as a graphic designer for Cornell, I mesh with your references to Steve’s word and copy brokenhearted…he had a gift that will forever be missed.
    Hope to see you next week in MA.

  • 2016/11/13 at 4:48 pm

    So sad to think about Steve, my friend and correspondent for many many years. Thank you for this tribute that I remember from the service in Chester.


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