the house was a fire of voices a child on the front porch sang a song about water and boats floor boards language inner travel from room to room burnt evening skies brushed the house with setting shadows as night breathes out a deep sigh of quiet
seasoned arrows birthday candles flames highlight the years and passing shadows candles, joyous for children sensitive to middle age sentinel lights for the elderly a breath reduces the flames to smoldering wicks, a festive aroma encouraging smiles and other thoughts
voices descend through the fire escape men wearing sleeveless t-shirts drink and smoke women whisper children stare to the sky where clouds shadow the alley a cat sleeps resembling driftwood pigeons gaze down from the rooftop Latin music rich with aroma drifts from a window
The alley weary brick lined its surface scarred the aroma of dampness lingering waits expectantly for its fraction of sunlight never enough to heal the sordid lingering air like sidewalks wide streets or parks where children play the alley is the center between buildings holding out for a few angled moments
The clock of many faces. Wrinkles stretched from time. Destiny swims in the eyes and legacies sweat from hard work. The silence of seconds push the hands into the next hour; no song can comfort the waste of circles within circles. Dawn and dusk feed on one another. Children are the second chance to find … More THIS WAY
My pen delights me, stirring within the cast of granite to speak of a father I knew, raising children; three meteors rising. He was humility possessing deep waters overlooking faults and premises of promises, drowning out failed expectations avoiding anger while entertaining uprightness. He was solid with love caring for the blood of his blood … More STANDING STRENGTH
Dogs barking, children in an abandoned lot. Their game interrupted by a dispute. Small towns hold its players close, leaving little room to maneuver away from the center. Girls look at magazines, shopping for images. Young men sweat with strength, struggling with self as they search beyond the package of where they are. An old … More WHICH WAY
Sea grass waved summer in. The reflection of passionate clouds spread blankets of gray over sand. It was the getaway, where coffee blended with onshore breezes; a flexible landscape with a flagpole. There were gray shutters outlining white trim and a red bicycle with a basket; the objects created art. On the porch, … More THE GETAWAY
Her hand dipped lazily into the fountain. Cloud shadows drifted over the square, shading tourists and children. Summer was yielding to fall. Orange and yellow drinks, wide brimmed hats and tables with lovers settled into a mild afternoon. The woman at the fountain looked up, shielding her eyes like Cleopatra observing a desert of … More CAPTURED IMAGE
Roger Singer 