Stories, poetry, narratives of true experience, and guests who have moved me.
in autumn's overture a freak breeze a crossdraft, close to the ground slides the solitary oak leaf, brown and curled, along the dampish grey sidewalk and I, stewing in sophomore thoughts, am waywardly drawn to this wanting to mummify the moment to get clean of the unclean to idolize this blameless thing this memory of … Continue reading A capricious eviction
It's like a boogeyman tale from when we were kids. I've been in this town for thirty years, and do quite a bit of walking. I suppose I could say I have been by her door more than five hundred times. Reputedly, the spinster (or widow, depending on which story you believe) either inherited, or … Continue reading Nobody home
In my morning tent the flaps still zippered I wake in the chill sitting up, I draw my cocoon around me and I see my fabric floor is splayed with linear palette of rust, turquoise, mauve, orange, ochre now I must unzip the flaps and shed the cocoon to find the author of this thing … Continue reading radiant
i have seen it in the dead eyes of the doped singer goaded onto the stage to do on cue what once was natural. the circle of viciousness. unwillingness,prodded. needs the dope needs the big money for more dope. the crowds melt away, except those who cling to a lost legend who has long been … Continue reading Darkened eyes, little lies.
Some say of the singer He can really carry a tune But the whistler, he is carried by the tunes. On them, he depends. Akin to birdsong, he utters unconsciously, And without effort, The warbling melodies. They stave off sullenness. They are linear, lonely, lyrical. In company, or in solitude they flow. A precision of … Continue reading The whistler
I’ll pass on the Easter Bunny, I think. You made me think. Thank you.
It still amazes me that the sheer horror of Jesus and the resurrection is seemingly overlooked. Yes, it is celebrated, but the absolute blood laden carnage of the event still blows me away, is seemingly forgotten. Essentially, Jesus was a Jewish religious and political dissident, betrayed by a suicidal friend, cast out by his people, sentenced to death by a representative of the resident conquering horde, crowned with the equivalent of the spikiest Bougainvillea ever encountered, and was lucky enough to be repeatedly flogged and brutalised in the extreme. WHILST carrying a couple of ‘sleepers’ (think the timber supporting railway tracks) bolted together in the middle, got nailed hand and foot to it, was pulled upright, had his legs broken, causing him to suffocate. From there, he was stabbed in the side of his chest by a Roman with the ‘spear of destiny’ (the name hardly does it justice in retrospect) ‘just…
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look at him stare all you like but don't touch the glass watch how he attaches that hose to his face then takes it off, cursing because he forgot to close the curtains you resist the urge to laugh and say smile you're on candid camera he sleeps now for an hour, maybe two then … Continue reading The watcher
You and I are in the car. Oh you precious, you. I'm driving. We are on a mountain road. (Why are we on a mountain road?) We're excited, the kind of excitement you know will make a memory for your grandchildren. The road, it winds, sloping ever upward. We have an unspoken destination. We are … Continue reading The Apex theatre
They call us white men. But, at times, I am pink, red, beige, yellow and, lately, a kind of bluish purple in a certain light at a certain time of day. Recently, two very dark women befriended me, or maybe it was mutual. I do not know. One of them is African and the other … Continue reading True colours
