The words from her mouth found wings in waiting air, tumbling with roll into the need of those listening. A twisting sound curved over and smoothed the faces intent with believing, as their arms reached for her gift. Lights paled in the strength she owned, as she pressed out brightly from where she … More HER GIFT OF WORDS
Like a bridge, expanding, long, holding tightly to the valley sides. A formula of stone and sand. Rigid with support, flexible for passage. To some, it is the middle of hope. The way out or back. A long finger of steel and cables pointing to or away. Either direction of passage is a handrail of … More MIDDLE HOPE
Strength resigns when surrender fills the space lifting the soul to a peace beyond wisdom a chance for hope with a breath of believing and a sign of change. The gain of riches authority and self fail to comfort that invisible pull at pathways you’ve chosen and people you know. Prayer humbles and stirs the … More PATHWAYS OF SELF
I press against the pull of chains That others fail to see, The battles raging in my eyes The hours lost within. The failings mount In dark storm clouds Like horses pulling strong And thunder speaks in final tones As I drift away from home. The warrior stands affirmed for … More WARRIORS WITHIN
Under the dream of summer I become a lazy traveler, like chrysanthemums breaking and falling, spreading my thoughts like sunlight on my shirt.. Songs dance my feet into islands, stepping over warm sand and then rolling in its gold. A lemon sun held the day, judging stars to withhold and the moon to … More LEMON WARM
KEROUAC’S ROOM A brown box radio plays scratchy songs into a room where outside neon lights breathe a fuzzy hum of blue and red through weathered curtains as the river far below rumbles deep past the town covered in soot as he groans out a snappy beat on a pawn shop … More KEROUAC’S ROOM
The notes had feet running me down with slaps to my face speaking hard of the pain forged in rooms with smoke and ice as the beat jumped me like thieves intent on harm bruising with jive a blues fat with thick and jazz painted black. running songs fast to catch them all shaking … More BRUISING WITH JIVE
When in the life of mid-stream choices and friends are few between when songs become an empty promise stuffed with pillow dreams and every street becomes an alley where shadows whisper lies you stop the voices remembering words from someone not so long ago who claimed hope and love a second chance beyond the loss … More HOPE
Day sheds its skin. The low bass of time moves daylight to its end. Streets open their hands to my arms and feet. Low light. Last light puddles. Dusk coughs a last breath. Night paints faces with shadows. Windows shut. Whispers find corners where promises are broken. Hats tip and collars rise. A cool breeze … More NIGHT WALK
Words become a watershed, the express of desire, a fountain draining to the ground, forming streams of release. The engine of day caresses the eyes as they mirror the images of streets and voices crowding into fast lines. Hats hold close the thoughts, while hands point or find pockets for rest. … More STREET NOISE
Roger Singer 