Category: They Named Us Lancelot and Tara
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A Defense of Baby Worship
The two facts which attract almost every normal person to children [and tempt them towards baby worship] are, first, that children are very serious, and, secondly, that they are in consequence very happy. They are jolly with the completeness which is possible only in the absence of humour. The most unfathomable schools and sages have…
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Science Fiction Fantasy Alliance AMA
The delightful mods of the Science Fiction Fantasy Alliance (SFFA) hosted their first AMA and invited me to come and talk. Here’s the recording of what went down:
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Writer Unboxed OnConference — review
Latest and least of these, I attended this year’s Writer UnBoxed OnConference. It seems to be a theme for me, showing up latest and least to WU. Due to a writing contest promoted by the great Porter Anderson, I won a scholarship to the first one. (That was back when I was still riding high…
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Appleton street art
Seems like Appleton street art is still cropping up around the city. Hope to see him soon.
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SIDE VIEW OF THE TEMPORAL REGION
We martians had it all figured, a series of canals traversing the whole planet. A way to move…
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building blocks
You are building blocks, my son. High and even hard to see where it reaches puff of clouds. You are looking far -far beyond that silver sparkle when the jumping fish applauds. I have you one more year. Carried in my heart with crown, scepter, cape and much more gear. I celebrate you with no…
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Felicia and Her Sisters
Felicia the Cat was ten months old. She had brown and orange fur but she liked to wear clothes like people do. She lived all alone in a brick house. Felicia was sometimes sad because she got lonely and had nobody to play with or sleep with.One night, Felicia wished on a star for two…
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Cow Milk Silo
Dementia across-lawn strideswither the spurgesunspot. The maid’s Tennessee handsbridge the thistle, her spine of damp & rest,dreaming of an electric scale. Pastures & pasturesof cow milksilo painted, blurring it all impartial.
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La Ciel
The methods turn to ridicule:piano & cello, storyboardhemisphere | wecheat panel to panel That old damson euphoria—the tri-state area;trouncing gun houndsof horse-tail— Won’t say. Airborne ricochet,near-flesh made real,atomize out of life le ciel, too late
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The Deep End
My swim trunks flow like algae,under & entrenchedby sterile blue shifts) The once-great sky cavernsinto rapt chlorine gates: The Deep End,where is it? Widening curves warp our towninto nill-lands oblique I have no ground to stand on,the pool holds me helpless— ‘til Death collectsthis daredevilwater-lung &exhausted.
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Post-Pink
Tasted true love discretely, professedas headlong prose,doing all we could & what we liked. The rain fell early— Post-pink; we’ve gone through this;on a mound of fog,raising my hat to the diamond, I wanted more. Dawn sewed through chainlink,aloft like heaven’s gate, Hope kicks hard; there is easehere knowing— I cannot find your name.
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The Old Neighborhood in Winter, A Villanelle
The marriage, the move, my divorce,Lovers come and gone, the children grownNow on city streets of joy and tears I walk alone. Some bungalows and Tudors in renovation,Others with lamp-lit windows where memories are sownMarriage, the move, my separation. I do not shed nostalgia, or weep at daysGone by. My memories are honed.These city streets…