Every day You were near In every way You were present Until one day you weren't Every word I spoke Every thought I uttered You genuinely heard Until one day you couldn't Every dream I had Every fantasy I envisioned You lovingly fostered Until one day you shouldn't You affectionately accepted Every morsel offered Never asked for more Until one day you didn't I leaned on you For everything Every day and every night You were...

They say it's rude to stare. But what if I can't help myself? What if all I want to do is stare at you? Would you allow me the pleasure Of learning you inside and out? Would you let me love you The way you were meant to be? Is it too much to ask That you love me in return? Am I a fool to think That you would ever feel the same? I can feel your soul around me Whenever I hear your voice Reminding me this mortal separation W...

The garments of Autumn's patchwork leaves of green, now nature's basket of red and gold falling to a breeze, stars twinkling at dusk twilight in a kaleidoscope of dreams imagination listening to the symphony of crickets karaoke watching the inhabitants among the trees playing the strings of a midnight rain whispering the secrets where spirits embrace the garments of Autumn's patchwork leaves

The klaxon alarm that heralded the evacuation of Terra Prime still haunts my dreams. Even though I am a safe colonist on Lunar Prime. The desolate floating of everything on this rock feels like the primal birth of something voidal, gaping, and incessant. Like a fly buzzing just on the outside of your perception barrier. Taunting and also easy to dismiss with enough distraction. The trouble is, distractions like food ratio...

Chapter 1 Atticus sat with his friends at Pizza Hut, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement and relief after they had all successfully passed their final exams. The aroma of freshly baked pizza and the sound of cheerful chatter filled the air as they indulged in a well-deserved celebration. Atticus was described as an athletic-built young man with milky white skin, raven black hair styled straight to his shoulders with a...

Away from the carbon dioxide and the clatter of the city the citizenry sleepwalking. Away from the mainstream breathing fresh air from manifolds in the trees. Playing our Bossa Nova in Mother Nature without mascara to hide the fault lines. Taming the shrews who live in plexiglass houses, common sense becomes the new norm.

...crescent thumbnail moon of love's radiant gaze merging soul to heart like a gondola on night's sea cresting the tides with the man on the moon in my fantasy of love's radiant gaze

I decided to take a bus for the last section of the journey. I knew that traffic in the New York City area would be crazed, and no place to try to hitch a ride. I’d had excellent luck hitching so far, perhaps due to the protection of Mishipeshu the cat/dragon, but I was no longer within his sphere of influence. Maybe it was the time to stop tempting fate. I’d heard of New Paltz and knew it was fairly close to New York Cit...

...the sound of silence dissolving beneath a full moon pulsing blood in my veins echoing like a bird with wings soaring into the wind to catch a leaf falling then it becomes a raindrop dripping with a human soul, dream awakening

My rides dried up. I’d had pretty good hitching luck up to then, with only a few long stretches of waiting for cars. Now, the situation had changed. I had a big bloody scabby bruise on the side of my face, right up against my nose. It did not seem to be engendering a lot of trust in me with the many cars passing me by. I wasn’t feeling too mythic. It didn’t help that I’d left the comfort of the Trans-Canadian Highway, tra...

Layers of brushstrokes and rough edges in one's imagination of a lovely dream where each stroke is a poetic stanza a breath of expression softly released beyond the futon of memory sticks with recycled art seen through the eyes in one's imagination of a lovely dream

...in the faces on the old bark on backroads of memories of musings, doings and lucid dreams of red clay down by the feet of my shadow where Mama now rests surrounded by nature's postcards in the faces on the old bark

Sir Oswald had left the room to see Lord Duckham to his coach, after his Lordship had inspected the new stables and made a very surprising presentation to Jack. So surprising, such a shock that, as Becky pressed against him, he was still wrestling with the problem of how to approach what it was now imperative for him to admit. Then he heard the sounds of the coach pulling away. As the room door began to open, they jumped...

I must have been lonely. I have a distinct memory of sitting in a park, in where I think is Sudbury, Ontario, my back against the trunk of a large tree, listening to Bruce Springsteen. Specifically, I was listening to the end of “I’m on Fire” off Springsteen’s Born in the USA, and marveling at the plaintive high lonesome “woo-hoo-ooo” trailing off, as the narrator of the song expresses his longing for the girl, his desire...

Jack Wetherley walked slowly, morosely, along the front of the new stables. Not since the death of his father six years earlier, had he ever felt so low. Passing the open-gated front of the twenty, as yet, unused stalls, he was asking himself whether his months of intimacy, with Becky, the niece of Sir Oswald Brandling, were about to tear them apart. They had both been aware of the risks they were taking in prolonging the...