My first breath of day lingers with dreams, fresh in my eyes. My fingers stretch, rudely awakened; morning has arrived. Early breezes sweep onto my windows. A train whistles. Breaking into quiet. Passengers prepare for the city. The aroma of coffee steams the air. My covers. Shields against darkness. Protectors from dreams stealing … More MY ANCHOR
He knew the around of the block. His city in a square. He recognizes sidewalk cracks, stains from blood and stores still offering candy for a dime. He claims the lights on his corner turn green with his snap, even beggars know him by name when shipments are in town. Some friends are memories … More BACKSTREET SHADOWS
The tides we mark. Levels gained, uprooting the changes from what once was. Shoot for the stars. It’s the high tide of holding the prize; a long way up and the fall is loud. A sliver of light is enough sun for me while working till sweat pours like the rain, its what … More FASTER
Broken glass, flattened fences, subways sing the language of city blues, not counting bruises or blocks with empty parking lots that mourn the loss, not knowing how to cry. Factories out the country, signs say keep out as men without gloves and collars up spit on the properties that once supplied their families well. … More ABANDONED SOULS
The fingers of her hands bridged out to me, long on compassion, strong with faith, circling over the mantel of my loss like steel forming foundations through depths of how I suffered as she reaches into my pain with her prayer.
VORTICES Feral tongues rise in whispered shades. Nighthawks lift in dark air making fair game of evening space. The time of planning fills the room, settling on the first sigh of sleep until dreams slip to the floor. Long talks have little effect on what actually gets done, as words spin in … More VORTICES
Songs of dreams jump the river, heavy with nights and clouded rains. Scuffed shoes on the beach and shirt tails shake the wind. The Nickel Bar calls the faithful by aroma, even the sour and stale from the evening before. Johnny comes home, proud to be standing. The hope of many buried in suitcases … More THE NEXT CURVE
I got me a guitar. The life of my hands jumps the strings, forcing words out my mouth with a sound of thunder popping, so remember, this ain’t no opera, where neon lights crackle with sizzle and busted dreams lay scattered in alley suitcases, cracked open like eggs snapping on a griddle of grease, spattering … More DRINKING RAIN
He would see with his hands, map readers of sorts. His fingers were pencils discovering the curves of a wall or the shape of a face; the continuance of good or evil. His feet sensed the earth between dirt and roads, solid or weak, as he chose the way from the dark caverns of … More BLIND
Between dusk and light half truths and minced oaths lift from lips sentences of thought salted in hope the understanding breaking wisdom where abandoned chances release onto sidewalks unnoticed passed over as common babbling taken for granted a bruising for speech from the wandering wise without pillows standing, spreading neon flashes of mercurial thoughts. … More STREET WISE
Roger Singer 