time

  • National Poetry Month: “Black and Light”

    Boundless black. Stars falling into a pit so deep that their light can’t find its way back once it streams in. The tremendous the cataclysmic voracious gravitational anomaly – yet we call it a “hole.” At the center of our galaxy sits one of these, feasting for what might be an eternity. A collapsar, an…

    National Poetry Month: “Black and Light”
  • Tower of Babel

    Such sumptuous beauty of the hidden soul made manifest in the arches and the rocks and stone blended into concrete massed into shape heart beating heavy as marble covers rough patches added grace and monumental powers push down into the earth shouldering burdens as always, man-made here the piers, hear them vibrating in groaning exaltation…

    Tower of Babel
  • War to End War

      They’re all dead and have become legend the chewing of the mice in the mud and the groaning of the brothers trapped on barbed wires as the bullets screamed into their heads who could believe it happened? Who could believe that the gas volumetrically flowed over white and tired faces their gasmasks loose as…

    War to End War
  • Warehouse

    “Goddamnit’s hot!” reverberated through the alleyway. It was hot, over 90 degrees – if the thermometer he toted around in his old Woodman’s Market shopping cart could be trusted. He trusted so little these days. The red brick buildings stood around him, silent and sturdy. Unlike most of the city, they would last for decades…

    Warehouse
  • Sedimentary Layers

    His name was Orville born in 1932 when his father’s hero still flew But this Orville saw the ground as pleasant enough. The layers of sediment caught his boyhood interest, finding ancient Indian arrowheads in the loaming earth. He ached for the feel of a spade as it entered the soft and easily forgiving soil…

    Sedimentary Layers
  • Old Editions Live

    While walking through a bookstore, new or used, I always stop and look for my favorite authors. I idle by their alphabetical presence and run my eyes hungrily over the spines of their books. I am always looking for first editions, or copies of works I do not possess. But sometimes I find a unique…

    Old Editions Live
  • Watched

      Watches don’t tell the time, they manifest it. The various little voices that tick out speculative moments: the second, the minute, the hour, all accordion noise to waltz through the seasons of our lives.   Where the passing of time is measured by the heat of the summer sun, its mercurial reflection on winter…