Tag Archives: creative writing

Burning Autumn

In the autumn, with leaves burning, safety as children running embers floating in the air. And I am burning leaves again. The tulips i pulled from your garden how you say me hiding, behind our pine. Eyes wide. Knowing that … Continue reading

Posted in Creative Writing, Poem, poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , | 29 Comments

Just Some Time

Just some dumb counter encounter, me and my old doppelganger, this dusty man, wry eyed in the mirror, wishing the kale juice was something higher test. Gotta flush those toxins, baby, gotta pretend the lastnightlastdecade didn’t happen. And there’s that kid … Continue reading

Posted in Age, Aging, Creative Writing, Poem, poetry | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

A Ballerina, On a Shaking Shore

for W. C. Williams, and some others There is a flickering of midnight torches along the edges of Atlantic beaches, these shuttering retreats, ghosted fall houses of Eastham, Wellfleet’s quiet drive-in, Truro’s barque emerging above the waterline. Oh, Newman, what … Continue reading

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Dark Waters

On the banks of the enormous Oguta lake we buried the dead, we buried the memories of the living, and the dead. The Black Scorpion scuttling On the banks of the enormous Oguta lake. Oh goddess, oh Uhamiri, we see … Continue reading

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Equitare Viae Liberum

You are my road. Drawing me away from duty, from purpose, urging me with signs, both clever and obtuse, to roll onto you, take your endless paths and ways, these promises of salvation, change, of adventure without compromise, nor guilt. … Continue reading

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Deva Victrix, Oral-Aural Riffing

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Deva Victrix

A shrine carved from rock, her face – now flesh molded by wind, by years – still worthy of worship, eyes upon her war, upon yours, her martial song is the wind that carves… (skin of night, lean cheek, flinted … Continue reading

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Plato’s Plate Glass

I am sitting by a wall of glass, harbor outside, wind, lightning and thunder and rain and in each flash I see you next to me, that it’s just a camera flash moment, sudden capture, still…. you are next to … Continue reading

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Iconic

When you painted me eggs for breakfast, the little cute ones – smiley faces, mustached, some crowned some done up on little crucifixes made of bone, sinew, spit and tears, my first reaction was one of hollow, righteous indignation, rage. … Continue reading

Posted in Creative Writing, Cromwell, Poem, poetry, Writing | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

Attic. Dusty Boxes.

I do not know which is worse. Finding a personal, loving letter from someone you cannot seem to remember. Or Finding a personal, loving letter from someone you cannot seem to forget.

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