It’s in the eyes, the depths where souls swim in pools of black and white prints, behind doors locked tight with faces blurred and names forgotten. There’s a wall buried deep, within our reach, a point of no beyond, where denial provides a path for retreat, or repentance washing us clean. Hold fast your position, … More A SEA DIVIDING
The jazz and the junk crawled like ants with cymbals on their feet jungle marching inside his head yelling to his snazzy fingers to blow notes with pounding and circling like witchy winds scratching hard at the air tearing a hole and blasting the music smacking flat into faces smiling broad … More FROM THAT HORN
The rumble Of jazz Rattles the air Like crazy cats Scratching Garbage can tops As the band Lifts from down Pulling the shades Bold and tight While raising The sound High and loud Beating out Fast and catchy Winds Whipping up A storm Of sweaty souls Dropping the rain Of dance Onto … More GARBAGE CAN TOPS
On the beach of my life I am young again, standing in the surf, resisting the authority of waves moving with the earth upon me. I am golden without shine, standing under tangerine skies, fearing nothing, commanding the day from my shoreline footstool. I am the history of myself. A legend to no one. A … More GOLDEN
Windowsills are portraits of life inside, the evidence of expression with colors and shapes. Each opening is a signal of suggestion from the person within; chimes, stained glass, children’s art, toothpick stickmen or paper animals. Windowsills are the eyes of buildings, watching to the “out” while welcoming the “in” with a glance.
Evenings doors begin their closings. A cellophane sun recedes to a round horizon Where a faint filtering of clouds becomes invisible as night raises the flag of darkness. The burden of evening, being alone or without, Welcomes the spirit of fear or doubt Or suspicion of sounds. But with God, the author of life and … More A HANDFULL OF PSALMS
A day fills the pages for night dreams. Songs settle into wide branches while lovers speak in whisper language. Night is blind to evil. The land is filled with stiff gray images. A jagged twisting wind circles over smooth faces. Silence holds the greatest of weight under an early sliver of moon. Dreams open the … More FOREVER GONE
Ocean waves dissolve on the shoreline. Diamond reflections spread cover rock and sand. The waves are creative voices, a language transported, respecting time, the land and mysteries untold. The voices are soft, welcoming and sincere. Often we listen but fail to hear the message, the answers the recipes of common sense.
The jazz sweeps the lonesome form me feeding my needs and filling my wants digging into deep and pulling up like an anchor rising from the a dark blue breaking the gold blue surface releasing my pain spinning it like a top faster into fast onto the floor past dancing feet … More BREAKING SOUND
I am downwind from the crossroads, adrift on the offside a thought. I hear the language of midnight calling where there is no second choice. A vine of clouds snake twist over a blue gray sky. Rain is far off, though moving closer within the halves of minutes. Here at a back stairway any door … More THE NEXT CORNER
Roger Singer 