-
STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN
We have mastered the art of making promises, we can do so without reflection. We are not certain why God seems so reticent to join us, we were created in His image, we are constantly told, yet even when we ask, no promises seem to be forthcoming from heaven. Some say God is far too…
-
THE QUESTION
If my mother was here she would ask me what I have to say for myself. Just this once, I would remain silent, for there is nothing that needs saying and she would be certain that if there were she should be the one to say it, but silence would drive her mad. So perhaps…
-
CHARLAP
Bill places his fingers on the keyboard, nods to the drummer and bassist. God waves his hands, demands heavenly silence and unsurprisingly to you, no one argues the point. Even Evans, sitting at God’s feet, smiles and says “it’s so nice to know our legacy is safe,” and turning to Blakey, adds “Ain’t that so…
-
QUARTET
An evening summer retreating in the face of autumn, two garnacha, a piano, bass, drums, her voice lifts the weight of the sky and we float up on a melody, unchained. In heaven George and Ira smile and we, here, smile with them.
-
SHE HOPES
Faith is something, she says, that everyone has, it is just that some don’t recognize it, even while the coin is flipping through the air and the desired outcome is whispered in the mind. She believes that life is a joy, but that it is also heaven’s waiting room, and while there may be a…
-
THE SAVAGE BREAST
You must pause and marvel, if you will, that only the flute – from the simple wooden to the most elegant metal – when played by skilled hands, can transport the listener. Some would say to heaven, others to hell, and often at exactly the same moment.
-
PLEASE CONTINUE TO HOLD
The thing I don’t get, he said, is why whenever I put in a call to heaven a male voice answers, and says he will transfer me. Usually the wait time is too long but occasionally a woman will answer and tell me the Queen of Queens, blessed is she, is busy but she…
-
AN INKLING
Writing is an art form that very many never see but the unseeing of the work is what elevates it to art. This is what you often hear from the unpublished, or even from the denizens of small press purgatory, the one the Vatican will never acknowledge, for the poets corner of heaven is so…
-
THE MESSENGER TIRES
He says, in a quiet aside he hopes no one will overhear, that he has grown tired of being an angel. And not for the reason we might think, he adds with a wry smile. The work is not all that difficult, in fact there seems to be less of it week by week, but…
-
SIRIUS
Sirius, you arise each evening. Your braying washes the night sky, as though to daunt us. There was a time we stood in simple awe having no idea how far away you skulked or of your immenseness, a cold dark point that could barely illumine our occasional thought. Hawking sits pressed into his chair held…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
an old writer and his words 