-
MIA
Each morning, as he went out on his walk, he would check the street light pole just down his block. He would carefully read the missing cat and dog posters, pause to think whether he might have seen any of the missing animals. He often wondered how many had been found, the missing notices left…
-
BOOKSHOP
Charing Cross Road booksellers woven amid theatres cramped sagging shelves an out of print Christine Evans, slim, collected works of those long forgotten never noticed a damp chill enfolds old leather as the door opens and shuts on a late February. Morning, my purchases sink in the plastic bag dancing as I walk to…
-
EVERYTHING IN ITS PLACE
He captured the stray beams of light in a small amber bottle and tucked it into a dark corner of a shelf in his basement. He canned a small bit of the sky, sealed it carefully, placing it in his pantry, for posterity. He stored his collection of dawns in and old cedar chest in…
-
MORNING SONG (AWDL GYWYDD)
The sun creeps down city streets, dew retreats from the grasses and fills the air, with sweet scent until spent, the bus passes. The robin sits in the tree as worms flee into the lawn. The morning foretells the rain that will slowly drain the dawn. The city quietly wakes and stretching, shakes off the…
-
HELL, FAR LEFT CORNER
I suspect that I am not alone in wondering if there is a corner of literary hell set aside for those who foist clichés on the world and at the head of that table should sit the fellow who first said “time marches on.” Even Einstein realized that time is relative, and as one who…
-
REFLECTING
There was a time, once, when in the mirror I saw a young face, but the smile then is the same as that of the old man who greets me early every morning.
-
SLOW TIME
Time slows inexorably with the approach of sleep, the other world prepared for arrival as the awakened world falls away into ashes. Some say it is all dreams, but they have their own reality until they, too, retreat in the face of the great rising Bird that precedes the morning sun.
-
DAWNING DREAM
In the morning the sun will reach through our window and draw us out of sleep. Some mornings it sneaks through the clouds which it pushes aside, only to retreat again when we reach out and try to grasp it. It is the sun’s caress we crave, the promise of a lover yet unmet,…
-
KEMBO’S TRANSMIGRATION 鐵笛倒吹 六十七
Awakening in the morning when you first see the sun and the dew resting on thee leaf which eye are you using. When you stare into the mirror through what eye do you see, and what eyes stare back at you. When you see the deer lying in the road which eye do you…
-
A LIFE, LIVED
The moon, a warm summer night, two ducks, a pond, utter stillness, a mirror weeping, deep purple velvet, a feather racing a leaf across the morning sky, a door swinging, a gate without hinges.
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
an old writer and his words 