Category: Writing
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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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Circular Dreaming
In bed, comfortably cocooned in wool against the winter solstice, I watch the night sky beyond my window. Half awake, I wonder at the myriad stars exploding into life, forming shifting shapes over endless eons as I drift off to sleep, to dream of past ages. Other lives are conjured, when sacred women reclined in…
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Darkness, World, No Flame
No ideas no sparks no advancement. No way to see the future and no way to see the past. No passion to strive for more than being content with No moving pieces that we cannot change. I say…
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Juggler of Fire
Two torches one hot as a candle minutes from being extinguished. The other hot as a fire that has no end in site, amazement. Juggling, with fire. Burns me. I have to drop one I can drop the fire that will blow out in an instance …
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GEE MONEY!
Yesterday on a walk, I saw a dollar in the grass next to the soccer field. Typically, I pick up cash I see on the ground. I don’t know exactly how the universe operates in regards to this kind of thing, but walking past orphaned money without making the effort to collect it seems like…
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Children in the Trees
In the end, it never ends.There are red toads everywherethis summer and the children playthat game where they stomp them,then switch each other with hazelbranches and run to the forest beforeGod has a chance to see. You can’t reasonwith the brats and you can’t tell their fathers.What would you even say to their mothers,whose hands…
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Six-Word Stories
Arachne’s web Weaved her terror’s image Midas rejoiced And hugged his daughter Pandora wept Over an empty box
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Christmas Out On Route Thirty-three
Well, well, well, now just whatever did I see,Chuggin’ along out on old Route Thirty-three?A Panda Bear in a Honda – could it be?And he was pushing a big, old, blue RV. His paws on the steering wheel seemed out of place,As did the fuzzy smile on his fuzzy face,Beneath his Santa hat with a…
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Saying Goodbye to Books
The writer stared intimately at their life’s works. They were the embodiments of effort and time. Calcified bones rolled out of the chair and removed the books from the shelves. Shuffling back to the desk, the writer fell, clutching their time, into the cushions. Hours passed as the yellowed pages turned. Words flowed through eyes…
