I wrote this to you the other day, Mom, but never posted it. But here it is… November 22/2016 I should go back and explain a couple things. You know we were never close in school. We were friends, peripherally. But, and this is hazy, there was something else between us. Out of all the guys from BealArt, why does he always stand out? Why … Continue reading Back To When Pink Was Pretty
he reeks of pity and a broken heart oozing from his pores silent libations half-dead expectations laying sprawled on the concrete floor with me and wanting to be more than stoic anger welcomed like an old fiend vigilant reminder of who he has been forgetting who he is already blood-smeared canvas-covered death his only dream left he believes in anymore Continue reading anymore
last night the howling winds of November laid down its white carpet after he escaped the city, and me, on the hunt for that rare thing sleep perchance to dream to extract the madness from his mind but I just remember concrete, vaguely and i am lost underneath a blanket of forgotten time those things he can not protect me from will not may not … Continue reading and winter had arrived
I found themjust after he leftdown at the end of the barI said:can I take your pictureand they said ‘yes’ “Some people are magic, and others are just the illusion of it.”― Beau Taplin for the Weekly Photo Challenge | Magic Continue reading can i take your picture?
“The question is not what you look at, but what you see. It is only necessary to behold the least fact or phenomenon, however familiar, from a point a hair’s breadth aside from our habitual path or routine, to be overcome, enchanted by its beauty and significance.” ― Henry David Thoreau Continue reading through
in the style of “It’s on the strength of observation and reflection that one finds a way. So we must dig and delve unceasingly.” ― Claude Monet Continue reading impressionism
Dad and I were on the front porch back at The Homestead last time he was up from North Carolina, sitting in those Muskoka Chairs (or Adirondack if you’re American). It was a hot summer day, and he’d been busy over the last hour killing flies, and with a flick of the swatter disposing of their bodies between the floorboards. Dad is a news junkie, … Continue reading Good Fences Make Good Neighbours
The words scrawled on the envelope, read: which face doth I present? which nuance which breath you take with me which destiny with that stoic hand of fate. Being a rough draft of one of my poems, and he says I got your note, I’m leaving, upon my returning from walking the dog. He said he would take about 45 minutes, and he was early, … Continue reading Just A Poem
Whilst the rest of us hunker down for those long dark days of winter, she welcomes when the hot summer days turn crisper. It was those kind brown eyes that I first gazed upon, staring in our frosty window that January 1st eve, with icy bits dangling from the ringlets underneath her ears. It twas love at first sight. She is a canine of the … Continue reading Irish Eyes
Just before I reach work there is a wavy path that runs through this greenspace in the middle of suburbia I cycle through. Imagine, if you will, it’s 4:30 (or so) AM, and it’s late fall. Though the darkness obscures the path, I have come to know it as well as the lines on my own face. My new bike light flashes, illuminating the shadow … Continue reading Cycling Towards A New Mythology
by PaulaB 