A brain, a heart, and courage

You must’ve been a big man in the schoolyard. Yes- that is what I think when I watch you with others. Did you lie in wait for that puny kid who wouldn’t fight back-who perhaps thought that this was how their life was supposed to be;who made up stories as to why they came home […]

By a brook

~Somewhere by a brook~I say. A Freudian slip. You say What? What was that? I say ~Nothing~ but can’t keep a leash on plodding thoughts that say ~Plant a small bush~ ~One that’s out-of-place~ ~One that will thrive on leavings~ *** Image: Flickr.com


and this day has a nevermind feel the soulful king is full of regret ~hands off~ he knows watch those whispersfor they betray the teabag tumblesin morning mumbles do not touch the lingering cathe’s spiny he’s moonyhe knows, too this boat floats with just a whistle *** [Image: https://pixabay.com/users/dpexcel-5262680/ ]

Good intentions

Daguerreotype is the day,ancient as I drive. Beside me she is a ghost,and I can’t speak to the veil-the closed idiom of her soul. OrI am the ghostand have simply lost the languageto this often-paved way. *** They got into the car just the same, even though this was a frivolous trip. Even though she […]


Once, within my hearing, and thinking himself alone, he said I wish I were dead. And I didn’t man up to that. I god damn kept my hands in my pockets and shied away from his tortured road. And now, in my time of life, I see to it that things are kept clean, most […]

In olden times

~I remember me. How I looked to books as if they were to be my next meal. How I bought brushes, special pencils and a book of right paper, still blank. How I sang, at first haltingly, then to praise. In magnets, like poles repel. Their force remains, but dissipates in mulish waste.~

A house away from home

Was that house one of lies one of alcohol and fear Were there violences muffled by bedroom doors and punishments sealed by closet doors Gone without… gone without Come to me now Lay those ghosts in my hands Let us live for time is so short ~photo by Ben Gingell / Getty images


Around here, we don’t hold with sharpened knives. With lit candles or precarious positionings. Life is safe in dullard’s walk. Nothing’s our fault, and we love the spilt milk lament. Image from The Concordia

Rest uneasy

Fell thee asleep with the lights left on.Apart, hidden safein plain sight, ’til now. When,by green dawn,the dark birds of your dreamscome home, once more, to roost [Image: J. Heiden Photography]