The march of umbrellas. Half stretched domes against turbulent clouds. Faces pitched forward. The rhythm of drops is the exhaust from heaven. It’s a temporary wash of mankind, touching coats and hats but not the heart. There’s a walk of escape to a point up ahead. People blur the canvas of motion, fighting against the … More BETWEEN DROPS
Black balusters and mahogany stairs lead gracefully to a parquet second floor landing. Decades of voices carried the water of words to this quiet circular elegance surrounded by bookshelves and photos of New York and Paris. Gold painted plaster moldings wrap the area like decorative ribbons. It all speaks with identity and belonging; above there … More GRACEFUL
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
What does someone see when you offer them a glimpse beneath your water? The pillows of your dreams Wilted emotions Thoughts without makeup Eyes listening but not seeing Sunless days The joy of rain Favorite words Fear of death The honey of a smile Running away Closed doors Acts of faith A song that … More DOWN DEEP
Red cowboy boots. Dust with living legends. Blue jeans, the working uniform. Skies with danger and full sun. The aroma of wet hay and work horse saddles. Leather reins, the steering wheel bound to a bit. Seasons that blend. Calloused hands. Facial lines, the human rings of trees. Sweat stained hats. Beards and tattoos. Cold … More BUNK HOUSE
There is no unhappiness in a stonewall. Its industrial beauty shrugs with humility. Seasonal wars have no effect on its lines. There is nothing porous about it. The stones once buried within ancient soil are like diamonds and pearls, protecting the perimeter of its birthplace. Fortune blesses the license of its presence each day; a … More ANCIENT LINES
The favor of rain washed the city. Wandering masquerades of hats and umbrellas blossom the storm. Vehicle horns curse the air. Sewer covers are the genius of casual art work. Steam pipes eject from below the devils exhaust. Puddles reflect the sky, passing tires shatter the image. Linens smoothly wave themselves dry. A cat warms … More A FULL WASH
I am a prisoner of dreams. My thoughts, stripped from time, drift me into shadowed corners. The gray and white melt from day, opening at night where eyes are teased by desert spirits. The rocks of memories are filled with ancient colors. Rivers pull at me, oceans lick my ankles. My voice is underwater, agonizing … More UNDERWATER
It was a drama unfolding, an energy of words on the attack, like a fountain of urchins catapulting in air creating and irregular sky. Abstract people shapes resembled stick drawings waving hands and arms like newspapers going aloft; creatures of thought, working the stream. There was no refuge from the granite of opinions, as the … More MY POINT
Railroad cars rattle to an uncomfortable stop. The heartless metal boxcars release a few late night traveling souls. The aroma of pitch and diesel fuel permeates cool air. Chameleon eyes survey temporary grounds for displaced scarecrows. Torn outer coats, shirts without buttons, uneasy hats all possess that insistent hunger common to all. They walk to … More FALLEN ANGELS
Roger Singer 