The Final Doxology And finally, the day came. I closed my eyes and ceased my singing. My chest no longer heaving, I lay still to move no more. My limbs now in stasis, rest, my voice no longer stirring the air. All around me, the howls of despair and the shrill howls of my own. …
March 2020
In The Company of Strangers
The touch that aroused curiosity The look that cut through the identities of life Rising from the ashes of ignorance Venturing, with a lisp, into the embrace of a disarming disrobing Purloined from the bashful secrets and cajoled by an emergent strange face with muttered whisperings Strolled, stomped, energized, silenced In my ensuing stupor, all …
Momentus Soliloquies
Do you ever wonder what I really think of you? Does it matter? Will it matter? It probably isn’t important and considering what you are going through in your life, perhaps, you shouldn’t care anyway. Somehow, though you may not care and though you have more important things on your mind, I rather suspect you …
Who Are you?
Who are you? Who am I? Hmm. Well, I’m the wind. Multi-layered. Difficult to grasp. Often astonishingly fierce and tear-jerking. I am without form. An ill-defined apex and a tufted cocks-comb. I am that which resides in the deep corners of your intellect and tugs at the strings of your heart. I enchant the hidden …
The Restless
Those eyes. Alluring, yet, poignantly expectant. Gazing. Staring. Inquisitively into the horizon. Awaiting. Beckoning to and inviting a rescue. Slaying. Even seducing with stuttering blinks, the heart of the one. Those eyebrows. Lashing. Luscious. Streamlined. Slanting. Hiding. Open. Flowing. Retreating They invite a stroke or two and meander off into the 12th of never. They rise and fall, yet, …
The Final Embrace
We revived our journey with vigor. Our encounter with hesitation. Clandestine were our meetings and discrete were our movements. Expectations unknown, our motivation was our desire. Jarred by memories of the past, haunted by reactions of long ago. Confusions of feelings, involuntary inner battles. Prompted by dreams of desires. Longing for what could have been. …
THE FEATHERMAN’S HOOPTIE
A somber and rueful way to heaven if there ever was one. The light touch. The soft breath of solitude. The crimson robes, sashaying in teasing manipulations. The whispers of silence, punctuating the quiet moments of solitude and elective loneliness. He gestures to the soft pillow and runs his hand across the scarlet fragments. Gently. …
THIS TOO, WILL PASS
Do not call me a liar – it suggests I may be aware of the truth – whatever it is Do not call me honest – it suggests I can discriminate and I would not presume Do not call me upright because often, I stoop to pull up my bootstraps And do not call me …