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The Well is Barren
I have had a few days off of work. Before this, I came up with a great plan in my head of the projects I would work on, new words I would write, manuscripts I would submit. Days have passed and projects have collected more dust and words have vanished. I have gotten good at…
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Poem – Crowd gathers in a cold city, in February
A slow sunrise behind rooftops and elm. Winters breath across a frozen lake. Flock of birds heading east near silence their cry. Airplanes shadow across the stone bridge. A crowd gathers in line for coffee and doughnuts. A child passes on a rusted red bicycle. A few people turn and watch him ascend the hill…
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Summer on 41st
Stretching eager fingers, ready to continue on a new piece with the working title of “A Season in Hell”. Not very original, however, a tribute to one of my favorite writers Arthur Rimbaud. I look over the empty streets from my office. The unimpeded sun heats black tar and the day has the hazy look…
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Poem – A Child Waits
In honor of Mother’s Day and including pops, a poem. A child five years old waits patiently, the door has not opened for some time, a dining room chair methodically collects dust. Three dinner plates have become two, seemingly overnight. One kiss upon my forehead, though different, something new as the touch and embrace last…
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Spring Preview
A walk around Silver Lake allowed the coming spring to enter a tired and worn mind. Thoughts of previous years and a childhood so long ago surfaced with a fierceness that reenergized the purpose within.