He was a mountain of few words a river flowing through the house, mostly out. Conversations were awkward creating uncomfortable moments, too many to count. His love was his work a place he escaped to without guilt of leaving those behind, considering it his duty; I knew he would rather be somewhere else. He grew … More MY FATHER
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
Poetry strong a subtle story without subtitles breathing out words to grow on or avoid ideas pressed in the winds of thought hold tight the cards place the bets take the winnings and then the door tears for hope and faith to the end
I’m on my own line there’s no sideways just the only road I know a nameless opening to slip through the green grass on the other side is well past and without flavor to remember and faces forgotten night rest now comes easy
We are students on the edge where unedited souls are roots of voices searching for a river to be part of to form a journey of communion to lean away from the failing we tempt mercy under various clouds while resembling a fallen shingle from the sky there is no center … More COMMON GROUND
The vanity of the ground was altered by a morning rain. the meadow trembled under the wetness pulled from the sky a linen gray horizon without sound slept overhead.
Everything needs to be blocked out all sounds that have nothing to do with what’s before me others have their callings places they worship distant precipices or deserts but here I am selfishly willfully yielding my attention I am haunted by the aroma and authority the force lurking below the surface … More HAUNTED
she holds close the pain careful not to break it like a hunger she feeds it in morning speaking to it at night grieving flows within watering the splinters of thoughts embedded in memories helping her is not easy when the voices attack me I know she’s still alive inside when … More THE VOICES
We are students on the edge roots of voices found like a river consuming broken unedited souls it’s a journey of communion leaning away from the fall tempting mercy under uncertain clouds while feeling like a fallen shingle from the sky there is no center of regret to rest on only a sharp … More COMMON GROUND
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 