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CASTLES
Standing along the stone fencein the late afternoon shadowof Auchnanure Castle, as friendsmade their way up the narrowstone stairs to gaze out overthe Irish field in which we stood.We watched horses in the adjacent fielddash wildly toward us as if saying“damn the old stones, here is the photofor which you came to Ireland.” Orsaying “let…
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SHE
She is territorial in a modest way. She can sit for hours looking out on the yard and the now dry wetland beyond. The birds come and go and she watches. They do not bother her and she does not bother them. They are part of the landscape, as she now is, she imagines. Even…
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NOVEMBER EVENING
He sits calmly in the cornerof the restaurant redolent with curryand cardamom.He smiles, unseen,his third eyes staresdeeply felt on the backof my neck.Her eyes draw me inoffering a serenity.She smiles freelyand I recall the parkin the shadow of the mountainsthe soft touch of velvetand the empressalongside the fool.It is too soon donebut the soft furof…
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OUR SONGS
Each morning between fourand five AM the cat comesto the bedroom door, the gatewayto the one room she is deniedand for five or ten minutessings her songs which I,on the now rocky shore of sleep,imagine as a lullaby.She cannot expect me to respondbut each morning it isthe same, the songs differ,and when I finally ariseand…
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SHE
She is both mother hen and Mother Superior. She is always loving, but she is a harsh taskmaster who wants things done on her schedule and brooks no dissent or excuses. But she reads us well, knows when we require affection, when we need her present or absent. We do not know quite how she…
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SAY WHAT?
In the heart of the night Iam wandering the back streetsand alleys of old Kyoto when Istumble across old Joshu staringplacidly at his acolyte monksgathered closely around him.“I ask you all again,” he says,“does a dog have Buddha Nature?”The monks consider this at length,each afraid to respond incorrectly.In this dream I am a cat out…
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TY NEWYDD
In the gently aging house,replete with writersthere are endless roomsin which the muse dartsdispensing her soul.I prefer to sit with the catcurled in an overstuffed chairher head risingand falling imperceptiblyour breaths harmonic.We commune in unspoken dialoga language of silencebespeaking volumesof our shared existence. First published in The River, Sandy River Review, March 2024https://sandyriverreview.com/2024/03/30/seeing-you-again-next-stop-riding-ty-newydd/
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FETCH
I think I stopped going to partiesbecause I grew tired of hearing howso many other’s lives had gone to hell,how they hated their jobs, and a fewhated their significant others and hopedto make them insignificant othersif they could ever get the courageto leave or ship them out, butmaybe it was just because Istopped getting invited…
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FIVE BIRDS
The cold winter breezepalm fronds shivering at dawnegrets remain still a thousand birds landengage in conversationa foreign language arriving at duskwhite ibis strive to decidewho is the alpha the cat sits watchingthe sandhill crane approachesthey speak to each other a single ibisstruts across newly mown lawnsdinner now awaits
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FASCINATION
They strut across the yard as ifimagining themselves peacocks,trying to attract the eye of anyonewho might glance in their direction.The day is slowly fading, the sunreluctant to depart hoversover the waiting horizon fascinatedby these large birds on stilted legs.The cat, ensconced on the lanaiwanders over to the screenand calls out quietly, invitingconversation, always willing to…
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an old writer and his words 