-
FLAME
He watched as the flame licked at the lip of the candle, the wax slowly conceding and falling in, forming the cradle on which the flame danced. He wondered how something as simple as a wax cylinder could have an inherent knowledge of beauty and simplicity and yet he stared at it certain the knowledge…
-
THREADS
This morning I plucked a thread of silence from the dawn, watched, carefully by a cardinal who knew not to break the purity of the moment. I do this as often as I can sometimes grabbing one from the moon, as it sits overhead, holding out its promise of quietude as people retreat into homes.…
-
BETWEEN
Between now and then, between yesterday to and today, between night and day, between birth and death, between good and evil, between heaven and hell, between light and dark, between joy and sadness, our lives occur and we are so seldom there to see it happen, lost in dreams of what never will be, never…
-
MINDFUL
I saw the sun rise this morning over Mt. Hood, the glow that announced to the horizon its approach. There should be in the life of every man, every woman, that moment when seeing dawn lift, peel back the shroud from Mt. Hood causes the sudden intake of just that much extra breath that like…
-
REFLECTION
The thing with mirrors is that they always want to tell the truth where we what is lies, or at least a little fibs, some wrinkles smoothed, hair now a color the mirror is more than capable of reflecting, but mirrors don’t bend to our wishes, and when they do, at carnivals mostly, the result…
-
NAM
He said, “I survived the war, was up to my armpits in water wading through the night through the rice plants that would never bear grain once we called in the orange. I walk through minefields, the noise a deafening silence since the only sound that mattered was the click that shouted death You think…
-
ROSO FACES THE WALL
Come before the Master. If he turns from you and faces the wall he honors you. If the Master enters your room and you turn to the wall you will deserve his stick. As you cannot sit in the Master’s seat he may not sit in yours, but all seats are one seat, no wall…
-
FOR SPACIOUS SKIES
Two men, having reached an indeterminate age, sit on old chairs outside the small town grocery, it’s neon beer sign half, flickering, around the corner from the bank on main street. One, plaid shirt tucked in coveralls, one bib strap unbuckled, leans back, takes a turn on his long neck, his cane propped against his…
-
LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER
My mother no longer speaks to me. It is not that she has been dead two years, that passage would hardly be an impediment for her. I would like to think she has nothing left to say, having said it all so many times in the past. Some say we will see each other again…
-
NAME THAT TUNE
He says, “I write songs without music, my head Is a libretto warehouse.” She says, “You string words like random beads, no two strands the same.” He says, “Symmetry is for those with linear minds who can’t see out of the tunnel.” She says, “Dysentery, verbal, is a disease to be avoided particularly by poets.”…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
an old writer and his words 