On the outer waves of a lonesome bay— here stood his easel upright bare feet on the lapping water salt sprays on a watercolor canvas bathed violet with vernal lighting sun unpainted but rising still on leather brown seaweed muck on the blue-green surf and the mayflower blooming up from it.
Riddle Me This
Ah! Clarity at last. And herein lies the trouble… you’ve perjured yourself to yourself and been too honest with me. Now I grapple with disappointment, you wander in happy delusion and heaven cares not for these intrigues. Fair is fair, you son of a bitch. So please, for god’s sake, be dishonest with me.
Forget sense, she said and meant it too, but her anger simmered and cooled with no direction to fling her diatribes and too modest to act a fool.
In the reunion of two souls come lately, the lady dared not try twice and the gentleman remained oblivious to the danger. Stumbling through an imperative dealt heavy-handedly to one unwilling and one unsound, they found a rocky, hard place that suited neither, proving partial to weeds and fallow ground.
Thunder struck and suddenly things were different. We peeled oranges in a citrus spray of sunshine and talked about what mattered most. Here was a day for the ages, iron weights on my soul lifted in that morning moment of not knowing whether it was real or all contrived fantasy.
An artist realizes that life is live theater.
“It’s simple, ghastly arithmetic.” - Capt. Fitzgerald in Amistad.
Have you forgotten so fast, so quickly the ways of brothers? Or that the strongest bonds will snap most violently? Here, a shape takes form in your discerning eye, conjured accidently and with no mischief in mind but revealed! I am the wretched third point of this triangle. I’d be lying if I said I enjoyed myself or found the holiday gathering anything but filled with irresolute gestures and...
Psalm and Resounding
My Lord said to my lord still waters run deep but deeper still run the thoughts of a blind man, handmaiden, beggar and thief.
Brace yourself. Steel your will and mind against a host of unhappy accidents all speeding headlong towards this minor resolution that fate is fate and luck is lady scorned.
As he sashayed through life with that silver spoon clutched tightly between his teeth, his lips were plainly tarnished.
A vengeful storm raged down for a day and a night, as the demi-gods in a fearsome temper playacted as children in the midst of an unprovoked tantrum. And bowing my head against wind and wet, wild-felled snow, with iced eyelashes and golden waves of unruly hair, unnaturally white, I grimaced, my own mood discoloured with righteous hatred of the inherent weakness of man in this forced,...
Of your affections or lack thereof, I do not think, sir…I know. But hitherto I have remained silent for fear that speaking aloud might make it so.
That I should weep, she says that tears should force the hand that holds me back to yield, and having been moved by this flood unstoppered, that he should instead reach and gather my trembling form into his embrace fully… oh this is an old trick, and an immodest one.
Oh, spite! That crying out in the night only adds to the collective wail…