Though the puppets of night in autumn's clairvoyance, shadows play, whispering in silence, dancing neath wings, a long twilight on silent stairs living this dance on prayers, in touch with God

The pendulum swings back and forth as time ticks away. Every fifteen minutes its Westminster quarter chimes remind me that sleep is eluding me. Anxiety plagues me while I wait for a chime of a different sort, the first few whistling bars of Kesha’s “Crazy Kids,” which will put my heart at ease. When the phone finally sounds, it startles me. But I can finally breathe easy when I read the words, “Made it home safely. Love y...

Who knows bellows better than the wind hung from a tree from where the roots run of which no one knows from what seed it comes like a gallows with long neck boughs hanging life in effigy suffering not smiles crying for the willows alone in the shadows kissed by the macabre of a clandestine moon longing to share whispers... "Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetop"

Nails on a chalkboard The sound of his voice The extra day’s visit When given no choice The fog-laden air And lack of sunshine The cool winter breeze Causing my sister’s whine The quickly raised voices Insisting they’re right The misinformation That causes a fight The great indecision Which channel to choose? The card game we’re playing That I’ll likely lose It’s time to embrace While the clock chimes sound And say, “Happ...

The Hootie Hoot and I, my gall set me free in moral decay as the carrion's filet, squandering away with death's bitter aftertaste rising with decadence yeast, cloistered with my goiter as if a requiem for an oyster, the Hootie Hoot and I

Rising from the dust of chalk, 1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, and 1 frigging bag of Cheetos. Who gives a rhinoceros? Ask the fool, who Thomas Jefferson was? He can't recite the Pledge of Allegiance but he knows how many chicken wings are in a bushel, that Peter Piper picked. With his one tooth, he looks like Ollie Dragon and his bottle of Jack Daniels is dry. Jesus lives in Mexico and Rooster Cogburn is the guy. 1 Mississi...

Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a little lamb called Ivy. You may think that’s a strange name for a lamb, and perhaps it is. Now, Ivy was a little different from all the other lambs. To be honest, Ivy lived in a world of her own. Ivy liked to bounce around the field exploring while the other lambs huddled together with the sheep. Such a happy little lamb; the world was just one big adventure for her. By the e...

Focus on the beauty, the geometrical phenomenon of frozen water in spectacular crystallized form. Each one appears different from the next and captivating to behold. And while these minuscule bits of ice appear white due to the diffuse reflection of the whole spectrum of light through each tiny facet, they are actually quite clear. As she sat staring out the window into the great expanse of snow, she allowed herself to dr...

Through the fields of golden hearing of the winter in their cry a whispering of snow and the dawning of the frost something told the wild geese to go with the ever-changing sky... it was time to fly through the fields of golden

He noticed it as soon as he walked through the door, and was about to mention it, but then thought better of it as the youth settled behind his desk and set about turning on his computer. His black eye looked angry and painful, spread across the cheekbone and blending away on his right temple, as though prior to coming into work he had gotten himself into a nasty fight, him on the losing side. He seemed to get on with his...

She sang my soul of polished memories as her shadow awakes neath the hush when her soft voice died on the wings of angels so deep the silence of her echoes on clear nights from the winds that ride the tides of love

Is it worth the trust if it's mostly lust? ° You are free to speak Tell me what your heart says We are in admission Please, no more naysays. ° Is it worth the love if you only feel kind of? ° Whisper on my ears The words I must hear. The songs of lovers From you, my dear. ° Is it worth the kiss if it's amiss? ° Look into my eyes Let me see the truth The window of your soul Don't hide the sooth. ° Is it still worth the try...

Where the forests nose into the lake, where the salmon spawn each year; where the camps were, that’s where you’ll find Blind Siku’s place. Siku is not here, nor are his bones. But stand on the shore, look through the mist to the hills on the other side, and you’ll feel his presence, as sure as if he was behind you. It was my late grandfather, Billy Thomson, who first brought me to this spot, a full hour’s hike from the ne...

The lake called him from uncertain dreams at dawn. Today was the day. He awoke. Frost covered the edges of the windows. Through the clear glass at the center of the pane he saw the snow still blowing hard. Its vehemence contrasted sharply with the warm calm of the bedroom. He kissed his wife as she lay sleeping, petted the cat, then slipped out of bed as quietly as he could. The cat joined him as he put on his slippers, p...

The river, smooth as a land-locked pool glows silver below us, and the snow crunches under our feet as we stroll towards the mid-point of the bridge. So many times, my searches for nature’s gifts have led me here. But never in winter. And never with a woman. Bashful Barry, that’s me. twenty-five years old, my nickname has tracked me since university. Bluebells delicately border this riverbank in springtime. Today, snow, s...