-
CHOSEN WORDS
There are times when I pause and wonder howthe words that are my stock in trade view me.Do I empower them, give them a meaningthat they would lack without my imposedcontext, or do I imprison them, locking themon a page or screen, forced into proximitywith others they never would have chosen.What would they say to…
-
MISPLACING
The river through the city hereis badly misplaced, not so much boringas missing something a city river should have.There are no tall buildingsstaring down at the river, no peoplegazing out of office windowswatching the shadows of their prisonsdance on the moving waters.Even in smaller cities the riversbisect its life, people noticing,peering down as they cross…
-
IF ONLY
Were we birds we wouldhave our talons dug so deeplyinto the soil, our wings unableto lift us into a waiting skyfrom our gravitation prison.The egrets peer down at usfrom a thousand hued blue skycloudless again this dayas a maleficent sun glaresdown on us as we slowlybake in the oven we createdby our malfeasant stewardshipof nature’s…
-
IMPEDIMENTS
Pause for a moment and considerwhat you truly think of the window,stared at but never seen, at worstan impediment, at best a shield.Is that why it gathers dirt and dust,a vain attempt to establish a presencethat we quickly try to deny again.Doors have an easier time of it forwe must acknowledge them, bidthem a handshake…
-
WATCHING
We stand together on the precipiceknowing soon nothing will be as it wasfor her and I, a supportive observer only.In moments the world she knew willcollapse possibly, replaced by somethingno one has been able to describe to her.She is excited for this new world butthere is a fear she cannot shake for sheis venturing where…
-
NIGHT AT THE ALLUSIVE TAVERN
He had been sitting there for hours, days,how many “last calls” had he heard?He watched Beckett and Eliot come and gobut he sat waiting, patiently, no Godot for him.He had long since lost his now empty pen,his pockets grown stuffed with damp cocktailnapkins, the story of his life bleeding slowlyinto the worn fabric of the…
-
ONCE, AGAIN
His mind was dancingwhile his feet were firmly anchoredto the unyielding ground.It has long been this wayhis mind demanding a freedomhis body is incapable of granting.But in his dreams his body hasinfinite flexibility, can moveas the mind needs only to imagine.those moments of freedom, he knowswill depart when the day once againimprisons him, locking himin…
-
WORD LESS
Words that cannot be saidmust resonate, reverberatelike bumper car thoughts, caromingin the recesses of the mind,pinballing off psychic bumpers, threateningto tear free, erupt like lava repressed,ready for freedom, ready to cedethe anger so long held captiveeating away from the inside, nevercertain of the consequencesof that release from its prison.Words will not be said today,fear maintains…
-
PREP SCHOOLING
They told me I didn’t belongnever would. It was just aboutthe only thing on which we agreed.But, I know, “you pays your money”and all of that, and my moneyhad been paid in fullso there I was and would remainuntil I could make an escape.Don’t get me wrong, despitethe Brooks Brothers uniformsit was only a social…
-
JAILER
The purpose of a photograph is simplyto capture a memory, to imprison itmore accurately, to allow it to bewhere you can always find it. Never mind that any prisonergrows prematurely old, losesvitality, slips down a slope thatinevitably result in death . Often, the photo will fade, losecolor as the event slips intothe fog of time,…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
an old writer and his words 