A yellow porch light Dotted with The past lives of Insects Casts a weak Weathered haze Onto a green Screen door Where voices Whisper out Into the openness Of cool air. Inside lights Speak shadows onto Walls As plates retired From dinner Swim with silverware In the sink. A rocking chair Meters out … More WHISPERING VOICES
Over hanging branches with fingers of moss drool onto a brown fat lazy river. Mud soft edges sit rich with ooze, tempting to touch, warm with patience. A yellow roaring sun growls hungrily pressing green stems to wilt in prayer. The voice of flow rumbles deep, muscled strong while passing through. … More WIDE BROWN RIVER
A metal framed door, thick with chicken wire glass, opens with a rusty song as midnight patrons scuff over a black and white cracked tile floor landing in a corner booth. Familiar faces, hard eyes, hats tipped, faded shirts and untied sneakers whisper crackling news of cellophane stories into leaning ears anxious for unhinged … More WHY HERE
Early morning offers the comfort of silence as you awake to your human architecture, stretching out sleeps stiffness while your system processes the inward blueprint, preparing for your first step. It’s a good day when all the parts work. You yawn out tired air with a moan; a familiar voice inflection known only to … More A GOOD DAY
A ceiling fan roams lazily among stale air. Seated below a man, his pants worn thin, a stained shirt from past dinners; he leans, listening to a radio. A voice wrinkles past square brown cloth covered speakers, echoing on naked plaster cracked walls. Cigarette smoke lifts in a thin line, absorbed into the … More DAY FADING
The warm water of jazz found favor on my ears cleansing the inner me rolling cool into air bad with thirst forming breezes lifting hair and silk skirts blowing licks and healing suffering wounds with the gift of pure song like stars born falling to earth and into the hearts of horns and strings with … More FALLING TO EARTH
There is a song within him, a noise familiar, a wakeup into day, an appetite for good to happen. The floor challenges his feet. Gravity pulls at him, creating an in-between where he operates within common boundaries. Within the season of years, and unexplained, the joy of morning remains in yesterday, reviling and … More WATCHTOWER
Moonlight folded the letter of day into an evening verse. Clouds tumble out of the way, soon absorbed into a clear sky where crystal stars own the distance. Underfoot, there is a carpet of moisture on the grass, marked by footsteps leading there and away. Evergreens send out a crisp aroma. Dew glitters … More WATER DROPS
We are stones upon stones. Caves of memories. Mountains of thoughts, oceans of tears and deserts of dryness. Buildings find wonder with our foundations, curious with our moving about while not planted in the ground. We each possess a veneer, some of paper others of steel. Time tests the heart for strength; stepping … More STONES
He is a gathering man, like wind pulling at leaves, or dry ground praying for rain. He is the cents of a dollar, changing for no one. He spits in places shoes fail to go. Music knows him; his style is the air escaping from the stage. The aroma of a carnation boutonnière is the … More SOLID WIND
Roger Singer 