NIGHTLY FAITH

Every evening he gazed up at evening stars whispering words he collected or a poem or song he was fond of watching the mist of his breath layer gently into cool air   and even if clouds blocked his view he continued to speak knowing the stars were still there   Advertisements

MEMORY GHOST

      Railroad Avenue. Cinders and broken glass. Warm engines blowing smoke. Old men with hats, suspenders, stained work boots and pants. Great stories of Louisiana bayous, marshlands, mountains and oceans. Empty freight cars transporting lost souls and homeless dreams. Wooden platforms, benches carved with names.  Trackside families. Steady work. Scars and sweat. Creosote … More MEMORY GHOST

ONE STEP PAST

There was a lifting of dreams, a rising of hope. An overreach through memories. A rhythm of power covering the wounds of neon’s from towns without names and unfamiliar faces. He was a velvet hitchhiker searching for a yawn of Relief. Secret angels touch the soul of his shoulder guiding him away from creative misfortune. … More ONE STEP PAST

AT THIS PLACE

It was the shape of a special place a noble treasure balanced and simple dedicated plans are released into later resting is an illustrious earning and all pieces are prizes   decades have been absorbed here while passing before a straw framed mirror and decorations are of favorite shapes framed photos and vintage sand a … More AT THIS PLACE

MY ROCK

It’s my shoreline.  A place of footsteps and whispers, high clouds, blue cobalt skies, forever horizon; it’s a song I live.  A moment brings me in, an hour holds me tight.  It’s a place without time, without changing, it holds the strength of me.  I am the shadow of here. I stand on the edge … More MY ROCK

WALKING THROUGH

Strangers are the archives of mysteries. Sidewalk lies brand them deep; attacked by silent words and hard faces. They are without council. Stepping from the shadows their walk is light and careful when in unwanted parts. They had dreams; stripped away after wounds, fading in horizons of travels. They have no apology, though some regrets. … More WALKING THROUGH

BETWEEN DROPS

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

CLOSE THE DOOR

A cool skin night.  Wood smoke. An outpost called a diner harbors evening spirits resting between points at a highway turnoff.  Exiled souls from other places stare with deep nostalgia of where they should be.  Few ever break the cycle of bleary eyes and dark roads. A stitching of alignment bonds the strangers.  They eat … More CLOSE THE DOOR

BUNK HOUSE

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

AN EMPTY SEAT

It’s a train car without wheels. A gathering for the subculture.  An information center of new and yet to happen. It’s a stopover between this and that.  Art deco, vinyl and stainless steel.  Formica countertops and a bathroom without a lock. A jukebox with failed neon’s struggles in the corner.  Eggs and coffee all day. … More AN EMPTY SEAT