There is no shortage of benchesalong the canal path where I walk.Some are old, graffitti’d, and splinteredwhile others are fairly new,and made of smooth blue metal.What’s rare is to find a single soulsitting in any of them. Such emptinesswould be enough to make anyone feel lonelyif they weren’t already, so sometimes I’ll stop,sink into one,Continue reading “Benches”
Category Archives: Uncategorized
Flood
Rain fell.Rivers rose.Dams burst.Bridges crumbled.Roads vanished.Homes were washed away.Lives were washed away, too. Some heeded the warnings.Others never got them.Some found higher ground.Others drowned.There was no negotiating.No launching of missiles.No military force great enoughto poke the eye of the angry motherin her warring hour.
The Watcher And The Watched
What was once the hunter and the huntedis today the watcher and the watched.While the majestic jungle kingI came here to seeleers directly over at mefrom across the moat,licking his chops, salivatingwhile likely consideringwhat a tasty meal I’d make,I along with about fifty othersstand in place like ripe fruiton a high branch,clicking our expensive camerasandContinue reading “The Watcher And The Watched”
A Wooded Place
Some call it forest bathing, or so I’ve heard.I don’t call it much of anything,which is more to the point.I’m sitting here alone on this stump,and now it’s beginning to rain,not such a shame as you might think. The woods are humming with lifeand nature’s sweetest scents are all on offer here.I could be inContinue reading “A Wooded Place”
Mapping
Standing before a large map on the wall, I trace serpentine lines with my left index finger across all the places I’d goif I only had the time and freedom to roam.Maybe someday I’ll see these places as more than red and blue arteries stretching across oddly shaped borders.It suddenly occurs to me that I’veContinue reading “Mapping”
Out Here
What are we doing out here,somewhere north of nowhere,our feet sunk in the shallowsof a cold river bed? We were yearning and young once –memories come rushing downstreamas clear and rocky as this river bottom,glinting gold in the summer sun.
Coming Home
The flood of austere streetlights cuts through the black of a moonless, starless night,projecting monstrous shadows onto fresh pavement;the row of tall oaks yielding to a stiff north wind.But just up the hill, a half mile or so,is where the single well-lit porch,the faintly glowing front window,the well-worn red door,the well-loved faces behind it,are waitingContinue reading “Coming Home”
Sight
This is where I begin,by tuning out to tune in,shutting my eyes from the light,opening the cage of my mindfor imagination to fly. All perceptions are suddenly ruled by rhythms, little flourishes of sound, and through this voluntary blindness, I’m unbound from what might otherwise be diminished from this moving mosaic behind my eyelids.
Dreamscape
The little yellow cottage on the hill,I saw it once in a dream that felt so real,though it’s a place I know I’ve never been.And what if I never have that dream again?Does such a place in the world existoutside of my own head?Somehow, I hope it does,and I hope to find youstill paddling forContinue reading “Dreamscape”
Night & Day
What is night but another burned-out dayclad in dancing shoes and a sleek black party dress,hair down, rife with life and drunken laughter,swaying gracelessly and uninhibited to the floor pulsing beats. Until at last, the music stops. The bands and the DJs pack up.The raucous voices gradually fade;the laughter, always the last to die,as itContinue reading “Night & Day”
Ascent
Once while standing at the base of a steep spiral staircase,a fever dream stole my equilibrium –the pinpoint of light above appearing like the tiny aperture at the end of a camera lens as my fluttering eyelids attempted to bring it into focus.Heights have never felt quite right, yet that bright white eye at theContinue reading “Ascent”
Industry
Damned if we do, damned if we don’t.There’s a dam in this riverwhere logs used to floatand jam up downstream,a rusting reminder of a once booming industry,like the billowing smokestack of the paper mill today, tainting our blue skies with toxic plumes of gray;the air stinking like shit whichever way the wind decides to takeContinue reading “Industry”
Haunted Avenues 