From where I sitit doesn’t feel much like baseball,but its opening anthems playwhile the slushy remainsof a dark cold seasonseep into storm drains.This soaking rain, when will it end?Meanwhile, in distant stadiumshope is alive again.Somewhere where the sun is mocking us,people are basking in its warmth,gathered in grandstandsin short-sleeves and caps,cradling popcorn, pretzels,hot dogs, andContinue reading “Opening Day”
Author Archives: Mark Alden
The Threshold
As you approach the threshold of letting go,you hear the faintest of whispers from somewhere in the back rowof your minds little theaterwhile the projection room abovereels out another cold memorythrough the flickering, dusty light onto the screen. It’s a scene you’ve forced yourself to sit through countless times before. And like many old films,Continue reading “The Threshold”
Your Letter
If it wasn’t for that letter you wrote,typewritten with a purple cat stickeron the front of the envelope,I might have lost hopein small miracles, might have forgottenthe feeling of receiving something otherthan sales flyers or bills.Of course, you could’ve senta plain old email instead,but that wouldn’t dobecause it wouldn’t be you.Then there was that poemContinue reading “Your Letter”
Ode To The Plastic World
This one’s for all the plastic cupsthat have parted my lips,the plastic forks I used to stabthe pasta salad with.For all the plastic budsI’ve jammed in my earsjust so I could hearthose countless playliststhat have sustained methroughout the years.For the little plastic card in my wallet.What’s in yours?Don’t leave home without it.For the hordes ofContinue reading “Ode To The Plastic World”
6 A.M.
Even the most terrible truth’saren’t so terrible at 6 A.M.Your eyes squint open to the ghost of a little thumbnail moon framed between two naked trees outside your windowas a seam of tangerine light is flaring out in the eastand your mind like the early sky is a clean empty canvas, untouched and untarnished byContinue reading “6 A.M.”
What Will Never Be
What might I be doing today if I’d stopped, just once, all those years agoto glance back at my burning city?Where would I have been yesterday?Where would I be tomorrow?Whose story would I be writing now?Whose life might I be living?Would I still be living at all?I’m powerless to stop these questionsfrom sparking up andContinue reading “What Will Never Be”
Stained Glass
Where as once a childnow sits the old man, lifting his headfrom a Sunday morning doze,heavy-lidded eyes cracking opento a kaleidoscope of bleeding colorsslowly swimming into focus. Now as then, the old familiar longingto launch himself up and out of his seatto join the rising dust moatsas they sail high above the choirinto the streamingContinue reading “Stained Glass”
Where Loneliness Gathers
I’ll bet there’s a little karaoke bar on a dim corner of some remote one stop light townthat looks a lot like the edge of the world,and that there are desperate people gathered there, some at this very moment, sitting alone, quietly sipping their foamy beers,contemplating why they are there.Perhaps it’s because they are tiredContinue reading “Where Loneliness Gathers”
Tell Me
Tell me what you saw,tell me what you know,tell me which way you came,tell me which way to go,tell me there’s nothing to fear,tell me everything’s the same,tell me it was all just a dream,tell me it was all just a game. Tell me, tell me, tell me!it was all in my head.
Bullets For Breakfast
Bullets are flying. Again.Early and everywhere.Bullets in your ear at seven a.m.as you turn on the television.Bullets on the screenwhile you make your coffee.Bullets in the news.Bullets in your social media feed.Bullets in America.Bullets in Darfur.Bullets in Kyiv.More than enough bulletsproduced in a single year to kill us all.Bullets in every cityand small town acrossContinue reading “Bullets For Breakfast”
Subzero
There’s an old red bicyclefrozen in the snowin front of a little clapboard bungalowat the far end of my street.There’s a thick wool capon this silly ass head,thermal socks, and heavy bootson these crunching feet.Why, oh why in hell, I ask,did I venture out here on a morningwhen I could’ve just stayed asleep?
Midnight Ramble
It begins in cold darknessand the thick solitude of a quiet carsplashing through the empty streetsof town. Flashing traffic lights,Christmas lights, porch lightsleft to burn, water streaked vestigesof the world I missed while asleep.This is the time for me. It’s all so clear,a silent symphony of subtle revelationsotherwise muted by the daylight clamorof horns, sirens,Continue reading “Midnight Ramble”
Haunted Avenues 