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NEW LISTING
Consider them very carefullyfor you will have only this chanceand you don’t want to addthose which ought not be includedor be forever burdened by thoseyou overlooked or misassumedyou wanted to retain.When you are quite certainyou are finished, that your listis exactly as you wish it,that all your dislikes and regretsare properly delineated, thenwalk slowly to…
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THE REST OF THE STORY
It should be the storiesbehind the stories that get told.We have to blame the songwritersI suppose, telling only the partof the story they choose, leaving usto sit and wonder, no answers, forthcoming.We all know what happened to Billie Joeand the damned Talahatchee Bridge, but howdid Becky Thompson snare the brotherand for that matter, why Tupelo?And…
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SABBATH
Fourth floor, Antwerp Hilton, night encasing the Schelde, ragout of boar and claret slowly regurgitating, I pause ancient words, stutteringly said, hand on my head a shoddy cover two parts of eight fully remembered one section only in part, turning East or a best guess. I ask nothing, or perhaps too much it is hard…
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ABRIDGED STORY
On our first visit to Prague it was almost hard to imagine that this bridge was built to ferry people and traffic across the River. Now it is jammed with tourists and those for whom tourists are a ubiquitous market, and anyone needing to expeditiously cross the cranky water that every now and again must…
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COUNTING TIME
I was honored to have this recently published in Arena Magazine: A Magazine of Critical Thinking, Issue 162 from Victoria, Australia This river has for endless time flowed from the distant hills on its winding path to the waiting sea. The river has no need of clocks, cares little whether the Sun, Moon or clouds…
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RIVER
I know I should find a river and just sit on its banks and stare at the water flowing I don’t have to step in it once to know I couldn’t step in twice if I wanted, so that problem’s solved. And with dry feet, I can walk along its banks with a bit more…
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ALONG THE WAY
They walk slowly, each step measured as to both length and cadence. The need not speak, they have long been synchronous, now cannot avoid being so without great effort. They say nothing, words have grown superfluous, and would only interrupt the slow procession of the clouds, the ducks swimming against the river’s flow, the birds…
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ON THE BANKS
The river ignores us for yet another day, flowing despite our presence, knowing the lake awaits. As the rain lets up, the sun appears and sets the water ablaze demanding our attention and we gladly give it. As our jacket shed the last of the cloudy gifts, the wind reminds us that this moment is…
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OBSCENITY
It was sunrise, he was on the banks of the river, and he knew, in that moment that he would remember the scene, if not the name of the river, or where on its banks he was, that was of no consequence at all, only the beauty. When asked about it, he would say that…
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VINO
The vines cling to the hillside, the small buds soon yielding fruit but now simply soaking up the spring sun. You dream the grapes are fat, the deep purple orbs holding in their Syrah, Grenache, Mourvedre, and you only wish it would wash down the hillside and stain the sometimes fetid River. The boats flow…
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an old writer and his words 