Stories, poetry, narratives of true experience, and guests who have moved me.
Sixty something working stiff (retired). Avid reader, dreamer, and searcher. I write poetry, short stories, and non fiction. Shades of the surreal, the horrific, the nostalgic, and the humorous. I have had work published in the Shelburne Free Press, on Spillwords Literary Press, and in print at Crepe & Penn Poetry.
Clarice sees the Sea, breathes its dreams, soaks in its mists by a foggy rock. When all the world’s compasses begin to list to her true north, Clarice will speak in tongues, and name the Suns, in legion. Glory will be to the one who is not named, and who was the maker of her […]
MoreJohnny-come-lately, I plant bulbs stupidly in the cooling earth under powder of snow with a straight spade I dig up cake-flaps of sod I disregard directions and just drop them in, the oniony things. This blasted blizzard. I drop to one knee, hard of breathing, hit by BB’s of ice
Moregimme that potato salad with the mustard sauce and the bacon those fried mushrooms with the smell rising mind my big nose pressed flatly against foggy glass approve my flirtatious hands as they make fake feetprints for amusement, in lieu of art, on grey glass in threenight, i will be at this same tall door […]
MoreOriginally posted on Within A Forest Dark:
Boa, Jonathan Kriz, flickr North Carolina summer night at Mama’s, with Jeff playing with the boa as it arcs and stretches toward the chandelier, the sweet scent of mountain laurel wafting through the window, Jeff and I doubled in fits of laughter, high. Mama turning on the light,…
Sober Second Thought’s buckled down, still, on his moldering throne. Wand waving, face saving, keeping the faith. Watching, with detachment, nervous amusement, and what’s close to despair, as things begin to twitch and soulless eyes begin their backward roll.
MoreWingbeats drum my thin window The moth is frantic for the feeble light Powder prints on the glass shown out as mica glitter And i am reminded of bird hits and premature burials These things, innocent and pure, do not have duplicity. Only nature. My desklamp, a false guide. My window, invisible. These i must […]
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