A guitar fills a soft space between soul and need releasing petals of sound merging into the blood of day. Wounds are healed within the weave of notes closing out loss strengthening bones and heart with growth. The sounds continue, watering unfolding blossoms as darkness retreats. The guitar soothes the moment, opening a chance beyond … More UNFOLDING
The flavor of evening circled the island, holding ancient rocks within faint gray mists, as ominous shadows pressed silently onto waters smooth face. A timid quiet descended, pushing out the undersurface of day in retreat. The occasional random sounds from creatures moving about, makes little impact to the surroundings as night becomes … More THE ISLAND
A seclusion moon splits between clouds, sheading onto flat fields, fence posts and tombstones. A feather soft wind song plays the leaves. Birds cease their inflight bickering. Stars reflect around the edges of sleeping lily pads. A prevailing mist covers everything like gauze, draping over stonewalls and stiff brush topped ferns. The echo of an … More COLD HANDS
My blood is dirt. Open crushed ground of footprints. Songs filter through ages of gravel, into stories, forming well worn paths. Ancient voices. Father’s I never knew. Messages on stone; the year of coming and then the last. Brothers, sisters, the images continue beyond the stone, covered below in dark and dust. … More SOMEPLACE
The jazz of his well overflows. The wetness of long images drip fluid hot from fingers playing the burn. A sweet pleasantness follows him. Years of heads turning form great waves behind him; the applause reaches distant galaxies. He is a cat. A prowler of music forests, yet tamed. Open souls are consumed without resistance. … More SINGLE FILE
It was a day without sun. A full thickness of gun metal clouds separated fallowed fields from heaven. In longtime past, the ground was harvest strong; abundant colors of growth, the standard of success. Watered words promised planting. The seeds are long forgotten and folded away. The weather changes out. Sometimes late, never early. Next … More NEXT YEAR
The newspaper drapes a lifeless shape over the arm of a couch, like fallen leaves of yesterday; past shadows of news and names. Lines of cars pass by below. The street yawns of morning. The aroma of coffee walks to the bedroom where last nights clothes lay asleep on the floor. The overhead piping creaks. … More I WISH
Dawn drops the hammer on the last intersection of day. A star curtain drapes itself over a thin blue canopy. Tasteful air rushes in to become the last act. Stories told grow tall with unnatural lies, encouraging events that didn’t happen until reality calls us out from the bench, waiting to see if we melt … More REALITY STRIKES
Charcoal thoughts spill across river deep eyes. The flow of strong vision grasps at the promise of angels with empty pockets. Whispers lift into voices, like ribbons trailing behind youthful smiles and hope abounding. A song rises into a chorus of winds, spreading out like well worn paths. Time releases the face of change. The … More CHANGING
A cool dusting of air, softer than the breath of sleeping children brushed across my face. A day full of hands began preparing the rising into day, yawning yesterday off with muscles only partially rested. Simple opening sounds of doors and windows blink a message of people busily moving into morning.
Roger Singer 