I have a pocket of tied threads, gathered colors from shirts, parts of old coats, hats, the cuffs of pant legs scrapping roads, the front of hats like cross hairs pointing my head to someplace and from gloves that don’t match, pieces of reminders to count and remember the place they were freed, now protected
silent wishes inside whispers, unopened presents frosting smiles, festive hats pointing to heaven, where eyes reflect the soul as a chorus of support welcomes all into the center where voices entertain with gifts in story
it was a gray tunnel there was a man wearing an overcoat and hat his back toward me walking quickly away, weaving to the sides, heavy steps raising dust from a crimson road he was joined by a white bird, its wings covering the man his image lost as the creature … More FLEETING IMAGE
past the breath of consciousness and common sense past the counter and the yellow line they stand comparing watches, sunglasses and hats, posing, checking the curves at the mirror for show, and what shouldn’t, voicing opinions to the beat of groans and moans, becoming bored they file out laughing at nothing
I sense a stranger a cloud without a name half light the other gray no voice to introduce the spirit without a smile, coat, or hat as it enters my thoughts like a midnight diner person, sure footed, a table in sight, back to the corner watching for misplaced stragglers, loners and those wanting … More MINDFUL VISITOR
its where being broken coaxes the spirit to dance to psalms spoken soft while gazing up urging a cloud to spell your name, or form a puffed dog, instead it rains, light drops harmless dribbles, one shape beyond mist with a flat soaking on coats and hats, dripping off to the ground, soaking in, watering … More BROKEN UNDER RAIN
eyes with work a wall clock without mercy typewriter language paper thick with ink corner offices glass doors with names water tank and paper cups fluorescent lights no one notices the hum high heels hair spray jackets and ties felt hats everyone smokes see you tomorrow
Rodeo days slip into his dreams he owns a crooked walk from a youth of injuries unshaven a tipped hat frayed collar faithful jeans boots full of stories wrinkles honor him of places forgotten and doors left open dogs watch him without growling as he moves on. … More HALF SMILE
And then… he was gone he took with him his voice and crooked smile his welcoming eyes and calm purpose to all he met he left behind his favorite hat a pen for writing a few books and a cat and dog that still look for him sorrow fills in hard … More HE WAS HERE
A slap of cold air bruised blue the covering of my skin A bullying wind caught me by the neck twisting my hat yesterday’s newspaper jumped from the grasp of a fence lodging at my ankles like a homeless pup night pulls dark over my steps.
Roger Singer 