I’m on my own line there’s no sideways just the only road I know a nameless opening to slip through the green grass on the other side is well past and without flavor to remember and faces forgotten night rest now comes easy
It was a like a movie of memories an afternoon of family pictures unreeling reflection shadows rainy day card games the aroma of cut grass, all reminders of heaven without sunshine and how time cruelly changed leaving some behind while unfolding others stiffly like a washed shirt on a winter clothesline … More CLOCK ON THE WALL
It was beautiful because, shaded solitude under a sycamore blanketing a dirt road durable carpets of moss and grass exhibited proof of ancient inheritance it’s a bewildering place for those just passing through and an oasis for those walking slowly
From a distant balcony I viewed the clouds crab by overhead. The winds resonated mixed sounds through boughs of great trees and then buffeted lightly against worn shutters and meadow grass. The sky darkened, I felt like an unknowing outsider, a Philistine, waiting for David. I recognized the approaching weather headline. I lingered as a … More FRONT LINE
I pulled down a dream. Opened like a present. I feel a full sun warming me; breezes reinforce the moment. Beach grass bends to rhythm. Bicycles, open shirts, uncombed hair. Faces without voices. Water reflections. Warm freshly tarred roads. The fragrance of low tide. Corners without boundaries. Each day writes its own menu. Radios speak … More ONE PAST YESTERDAY
Roger Singer 