Acquiescence

Summer Porch at Mr. and Mrs. C.E.S. Wood's

by Frederick Childe Hassam

This morning

a breeze

arrived at my doorstep

and called me outside

where I dug out

a buried book

forgotten

from hot summer days

when buzzing iridescent flies

roosted at my black screens

and my afternoons

were white and silent

and if I heard sirens

from the distant city

I curled into myself

from the sound

and if there was chatter

from a neighbor’s porch

I muted its commotion

inside my head

and if cool air

asked permission to touch me

I allowed it to stretch out

across my skin

and now

with the fall of night

I abandon the book

and let the shimmering stars

in the heavens

and the helpless moon

in its orbit

replace a stranger’s

scribbled delusions

at dressing the naked

entrails of my soul.

Published Again!

The Notes from Underground Anthology, published by The Literary Lab, is out! And two of my works are in it:

      Short Story:     “The Smell of Closed Windows”

      Poem:                “Your Eyes Will Open”

This anthology includes the work of 25 talented writers selected through the “Notes from Underground Contest,” held last fall by The Literary Lab, whose editors are way too cool for words.

There is some really high talent in this anthology and I totally mean that! I am both honored and proud to be featured in an anthology that includes such amazing writers. Thank you, Literary Lab!

The anthology is available both as a print book and as a Kindle eBook on Amazon. It is also available on createspace. You will not be disappointed!

All proceeds from the sale of this book go to the Writer's Emergency Assistance Fund. How about it?

And hey, don’t forget to stop in and visit The Literary Lab. You just might end up becoming a permanent fixture. Everyone who hangs out there is totally awesome!

Enjoy!

Tabula Rasa

In the Wake of the Underground Sun, A. Andrew Gonzales

Dare to tear that edge of air

where swallows fly and clouds with voices

Sing songs that lift oblivion high

and drop remembrance behind grieving eyes.

The key is to sit for a while

and smile without duty or obligation

At an auburning evening sky

and perhaps to contemplate one’s fate,

And perhaps to keep one’s spirit open

to the invisible stars that pierce the half-light,

And perhaps to touch a truth that

spreads like paved gravel upon the horizon,

And while the clouds change color…

Perhaps to bathe in blood and weep

or to deliver one’s eyes to the labyrinths of sleep,

And perhaps to have sinister dreams

and to scream one’s fears out loud,

To both confess and absolve one’s Self

and to shed one’s sorrows like a shroud. 

Truth...or Fiction

The Lovers by Marty Wolff

Night slips into my room

and I call it fiction

that no one might think it true.

Yet…

On a long summer evening,

a different trail will come to me…

the scent of a man with no body.

I will cling to the ghost of his perfume.

I will cling…

But, no.

Don’t tell me this isn’t truth…

How you crackle like fire

in the deadest stillness of darkness.

How you glide like nightfall over my skin. 

How I grasp the spectre of your descent.

How you erode my flesh

like a million years of rain on stone.

*** Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!!!