Do auspicious omens from a deer encounter extend to the semi-suburbs? I have zilch expertise in gauging their racks, but this 2-, 3- or 4-point young buck showed up recently in my backyard, which butts up against a narrow spit of woods. I got a closer look at him last night upon returning home from an outing ...
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It is lovely here, this place you call the past, / but which is my present. We meet in the middle, / upon this bridge of words ...
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What to keep an eye upon come what may on the political scene and in our lives: beauty. A one-minute harmonically converged reminder ...
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We prance across the floor & close / the space. Until I see your back to me, those hips, an intoxicating / whiff of shampoo, the outline of your lips, an accidental touch, / matched rhythms, yes, our bodies talking on a wavelength our / minds cannot access ...
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When a father steps into and then down from the pulpit as his son brings the light and then snuffs it out at the end of a church service, watch for the moment of grace between father and son ..
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Sometimes, you gotta go short, instead of long. A sampling of short poems and epigrams in advance of an autumnal reading amid the West Virginia trees.
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A small thing, an unconventional view or a dry-as-bone chainlink fence might be just as much an aesthetic encounter with beauty as the theatrical sunset, a tea-rose in all its glory, or a fetching face.
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To finesse and regulate some troubled energy, I fire up a jacked-up classical guitar, get the Garageband Foundry roaring, and hunker down. The result is "Dragon Ramble" by Douglas Eye and The Scribblers.
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Let's not talk about the moon anymore, but instead Solzhenitsyn's idea of 'political horror,' how to write a 'sorta memoir,' and breaking up with Twitter until the perp walk.
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How hard it is to dream, / to dream well. Besieged by / wants, missing what’s not / there. Wanting what we / cannot have, or could, at a / high cost of misery ...
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At first, I thought the sign said: "PLEASE WAKE YOUR MIND." Wait, no. It was a message of Buddhist boatfulness, instead.
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Hoeft Marsh in Greenbottom WV is where I get off to when I want to get off the timeline of the world's news. Here's a short musical visit there. It's a little fishy, too.
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“Listen to this!” say Tommy. He shifts the Les Paul to his lower back, rock star-like. “Edgar Winter,” he says, almost reverently. “Johnny’s brother ..."
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'I think that I cannot be killed, / that my work is incomplete, / my dreams / not yet completely manifested … / Why do we think this way?'
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The balls of his black pupils stare at me intently, oddly echoed by the round marble of a self-shaved head. Moments later, I have second thoughts about my diplomacy as “Speak English or Die” batters the room.
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