The rising aroma of fresh bread circles up with intent within a tight shaded alley attacking the senses of appetites full of empty. Like thieves drawn to open windows the magic of leaven lifts like carpets full of magic owning the air with thoughtful desires of tasty jewels. … More FULL OF EMPTY
On the beach of my life I am young again, standing in the surf, resisting the authority of waves moving with the earth upon me. I am golden without shine, standing under tangerine skies, fearing nothing, commanding the day from my shoreline footstool. I am the history of myself. A legend to no one. A … More GOLDEN
Windowsills are portraits of life inside, the evidence of expression with colors and shapes. Each opening is a signal of suggestion from the person within; chimes, stained glass, children’s art, toothpick stickmen or paper animals. Windowsills are the eyes of buildings, watching to the “out” while welcoming the “in” with a glance.
A day fills the pages for night dreams. Songs settle into wide branches while lovers speak in whisper language. Night is blind to evil. The land is filled with stiff gray images. A jagged twisting wind circles over smooth faces. Silence holds the greatest of weight under an early sliver of moon. Dreams open the … More FOREVER GONE
I am downwind from the crossroads, adrift on the offside a thought. I hear the language of midnight calling where there is no second choice. A vine of clouds snake twist over a blue gray sky. Rain is far off, though moving closer within the halves of minutes. Here at a back stairway any door … More THE NEXT CORNER
A thousand flags in the hands of dancers grace the blue tiled floor in Solomon’s temple lifting together in praise and adulation. Horns strike to up heaven, harps and bells cut sharp the air raising a standard of worship by faith. Drums beat the rhythm of a nation. Voices together offer thanks through … More SOLOMON’S TEMPLE
Car lights pass below on the street. Bloated twisted images spread shadowed alien figures onto building corners, peppering them onto flowered wall paper in my room, laying them flat with quiet colors. Tires hum grand and black, forming voices from the motion of speed on pavement. Red lights make for angry stops. Engines battle for … More STREET BELOW
I vision a place safe without loss, the beginning of new, the opening on all sides where anyone can relax and sing. It’s a shadow of a place, harbored beyond envy and hate, turmoil and strife. It’s the next train with an open boxcar. A bus sounding loud on a dusty road. A car with … More OUT THERE
A homeless empty wind slipped the corner of late August, searching for the last remnant of summer, that final breath of warm air. Cool nights marked the end and the beginning of another season. Daylight slowly drained away familiar voices and sounds. The chance of the future depends on the passing of seasons. … More PASSING SEASONS
The flash of late night neon’s offered hope and rescue to sidewalk followers searching out the end of day watching the eyes of those passing. Flatbush Avenue ran the beat of alive never sleeping, holding tight the sounds of city language. Traffic lights measure time, guarding the roads … More FLATBUSH AVENUE
Roger Singer 