An energy wind rolled over gray stones and sand; the spent blood of glaciers. Dark waters, the fluid of night oceans, reflects stars and a crescent cold moon. The last of the clouds discharges a mist; absorbed without voices into horizons . Heaven opens night’s gates, releasing … More NIGHT OCEANS
Half sleep gathered me into boughs of night where dreamscapes of waterfalls and colored carnival lights shined onto a blue wall. Careless curtains beckon me to open the window where stars resemble musical notes, blinking out songs. My room capsizes as water rushes in, circling my ankles … More CROSSING BOARDERS
I know the face of 3am. It pulls tight at the bones of my rest, unwrapping the scaffolding of my cellophane sleep, breaking into my room; my eyes open into a dark sea of nothing. 3am is a black star absent of an orbit, a horizon fused into the soup … More 3 AM
A hard wind jumped eagerly from the stage, creeping into pockets and knocking on hats, forming a sweat then slapping the wall like heavy fast running water, a high tide of notes crests thick as a wave of jazz soaks ears of wide eyed souls. Dancing dresses swirl while … More A HIGH TIDE OF NOTES
I see the remembers, with alleys dark and garbage can cats jumping a jive like horns and drums busting a beat at Tin Pan corners where neon’s red and blue point to the apples best and brightest jazz long into a night that got no end, only beginnings, striking out a rhythm busting into the … More THE ONLY APPLE
An encampment of thunder breathes boldly nearby, announcing its presence like armies marching on cobblestone streets wearing tin hats and garbage lid shoes. A salvo of explosions beats out a rhythm painting the sky and land with sound releasing the rain and a cold cutting wind speaking the language of turbulent power while claiming the … More THUNDERING
A smooth river. Rich banks of sand. A log without roots loitering far from home. Tree dripping moss. Snaking branches. A dirt road. A home at the end where I live. Trees boasting gnarled thickness. A deep legacy. Vines with fingers. Leaves with eyes to the sun. Ghosts at the gate. Leaves of autumn lay … More A DEEP SOUTH
From the open door I pass daily on the Rue des Lombards lined with lilac bushes, I lean to the sound of a piano; I pause with curious ears. Athletic fingers prompt the song to spill unwrapped to me, circling like a scarf, holding my thoughts, catching me out of … More RUE des LOMBARDS
Sleep is an explorer of anxious pathways where corridors of hidden thoughts collide recklessly at untested crossroads releasing pathways without fences. Sleep is the invisible black where eyes and fingers twitch as the visual curtains of life rise and then fall. There are mumblings of half sentences, warnings, forgotten names and prayers for forgiveness. Sleep … More INVISABLE BLACK
Midnight has a voice. A calling for those searching, unable to rest with anxious feet crossing streets trying to but not finding that second chance. Midnight is the thin slice of between yesterday and today. It’s half of this and the start of that. Some fear the straight up … More HALF OF THIS AND THAT
Roger Singer 