I am swimming in the water of stars. My skin becomes moon soaked with velvet blue and soft sheets of silver. Cool air refreshes my energy. Over shadowed by pines of night green I hold my eyes open, absorbing the greatness of a black distance. I am arrested by the awe at the bottom of … More MY QUIET
The wind lightened my sleep into awake. Its voice slapped branches onto my window, scratching at me to get up. A lazy sun gathered a rising strength in the background with blue and crimson clouds, suggesting rain. Leaves brushed into thousands of sounds; music of rubbing and snapping, an orchestra of nature calling. Window edges … More EARLY WINDS
A jukebox. Records scared with scratches twists songs for a dime. Wallpaper stares over stained floors. Voices speak coffee. Forks curl through pie and meat loaf. A screen door. Green. Marked with the oil of hands. Hinges squeak. Flies wrestle for freedom on a windowsill. A song drifts homelessly. Heads nod. A finger taps. Grease … More PEOPLE GATHER
A building torrent of storms forced a crazy going, pushing in and hammering out a day swollen with clouds and wind. A broken night rumbled like passing trains thundering through, heavy with rusted metal, beating a rhythm without equal. Lightening streaked, slamming the sky, sawing the air with bold power, blinding quickly and … More MOVING ON
The color in me knows the blues, it feels the hands deep pulling to the surface the song of me. Can’t wash away or drain out the fullness crowding my insides where its standing room only in hallways and from chairs full of listeners waiting for the pouring over of what I got. A song … More THE BANK OF BLUES
The power of the drive is interest. A formidable presence. Creating an iron path. Bold expressions. The energy of engines. The length without loss. Full with release. Disproving disbelief. Strength with compassion. Concern and respect. Honor with honor. Listening without speaking. Holding not hiding. A hand without greed. A comment without wounding. Quiet not arrogant. … More HOME
Deep rivers are the people of thought. Voice streams pass overhead, rippling the vision, until the cause settles down. The growth of me, my trees and the ground of my past spreads branches over my roots, shading a slow path. I am a shadow. A gray imprint on a landscape of color. A bridge from … More
An open sound of notes thawed with heat what was cold and deep with loss with waves of warmth from fans in heaven rolling to the ground turning over knocking around a sound birthed as jazz and rich with blood pumping and breathing finding a breath speaking with voice like bread … More NOTE BY NOTE
The wind had its way with me gusting like campfire smoke, lifting the edges of my shirt, pushing me with direction. My feet concede to half steps, like a child walking up stairs. I attempt to brace my position like a human redoubt while yielding a few paces. I turn sideways, reducing for a moment … More PASSING STORM
Rugged storms, the winds of change, lift our moorings from the planting inside of us. We resist by setting into the winds, standing firm, but still we stumble under the pressing weight, falling into and apart from our self. We like to think we are soldiers, resisting the enemy, fighting back with advancing lines. But … More ADVANCING LINES
Roger Singer 