A white curtain moon held firm The center of a dark night. An immense canopy of darkness Grasped the eyes of the living and the dead. The shadows of night slip through picket fences Disturbing only the mist and while stepping Over sleeping dogs. A church bell calls night to order. A lone bird lifts … More NIGHT SHADOWS
IN ME …..I got a land in me, rocks melted into blood and skin from snakes. Dust and sand forms the man and tears wash it away into rivers deep with shadows, the places of past front porches and lights too dim for a full face where screen doors welcome the great and small into … More IN ME
Highway papers scatter the road. Yesterday’s news pressed against the inside of a factory fence. The sky is rose red. The air is moist. There are no songs but the wind gusts a tune. The clouds resemble casual caring hands, resting like sleep while building silently into towers over a landscape full and willing. A … More REPLENISH
The crossing of shadows marks street windows with blurred reflections absent of color. Quick steps and shoulders slip the stream. The sidewalk is a meadow of shoes, turning, twisting, scuffed and shined, all with purpose and impatience. The people are a mix of ragged granules; the sands of a city shoreline on the move. Eye … More RAGGED GRANULES
We become reduced by the strength of day; it starts like honey but can turn to tar. We seek shade under the cool of willows, harmless on a rivers edge, there branches whisper as breezes slip through. Songs of riches bring us to the mountain of hope. Wealth fails to provide the joy as seasons … More BURN OFF
He came from no place good; unpaved roads lick his dusty feet. Magnolias fold at his passing, mourning his loss and without. There are no warnings within him. No trappings snare his feet. His words are swollen streams, turning violent winds into jazz, soaking faces with song. He’s been … More BREATHING GRAY
Under the skin, a motor of sound. Molasses fingertips play dark thick jazz. Wet soaked dirt roads kick start the aroma of his thoughts. Smooth perfumed skin smiles into his lust. His mile of strong words runs like a river engine; a power few own. A wind moves on a sweet green growing field. His … More DEEP POCKETS
Wide streets cluttered with life. Threads of voices. Open market. Awnings with stripes. Aprons with pockets. Busy hands, strong and soft. Silk skirts. Cut flowers, carnation strong. Youth with a vision. The world moving on sidewalks. Colorful hydrants. White walled tires. Black Cadillac’s. Patent leather shoes. Gold chains. Grandmothers watching. Package store drinkers. Trucks and … More HARLEM
The sight of day vanishes as if cut. Underground tremors release into tunnels creating monster echoes. The train becomes absorbed in an ocean of dark air. Doors fling open. Warm gaseous fumes slap morning faces. The platform fills with legs and shoes and eyes looking down; children are still home in bed. The atrium fills … More ARRIVING
His arms were roots, thirsty for water; its color and taste indifferent to his lust. His hair boasted unruliness, dry and odd shaped, like unkempt fields leaning from wild winds. He disconnected himself, inventing sounds from tears while his skin was sore from long work and seeing empty plates and passing rocks that … More AT THE TOP
Roger Singer 