an open window,white curtains attempting to escape windward below, a dirt alley between wooden shacks a train yard, open empty boxcars, idle iron heat, miles behind, miles to go lumber to be loaded, men with caps sit shaded like tumble weeds waiting for a wind of orders to move
morning motion,city traffic, cold in summer, a moment not to be judged by the ordinary outside unfolds, steeled faces fear unseen dangers, yet find safety within it like birds appearing to have no where to go
top pocket dreams,close to the heart, paper drop tears on unsent love letters as I look up from beneath at the crossroads of life, wondering from below the moving parts above, in the shape of shadows and whispers, while rose pedals and magnolias drip onto my shoulders with unexpected mercy, placing me within the … More MORE THAN A DREAM
bundled,estranged souls, streams of wool and cotton, buckles and brocades traversing streets and sidewalks, stepping to stairs, lined at doors, waiting at lights, journeys day and night to safety, to escape, to arrive, as the circle continues unafraid of reaching the end
FLOATING BACKWARD heavy damp air presses down chimney smoke with an unseen hand ditches are full of last nights rain we rest at fireside, warming the within unworn stories release like water over smooth stones as we hold between what is regularly reviewed without compromise
THE FUTURE OF THIS shadows and smoke slip beyond the screen door, each to a path, a tunnel, past the mix of great and small and the parts of temptation and enemies the heart defends against, knowing that as things change they somehow remain the same
GRAVEDIGGERS soft dirt foot print on a fresh grave, a death bed of brown earth and a few small stones, shovels lean on a wooden shed where inside two men play cards, soiled fingers sweaty shirts the odor of work in their hair, they snort and spit rising slowly cursing the heat and … More GRAVEDIGGERS
it was a burst of journey, a passage somewhere behind the rain, between sun and moon waiting for the rise of gray pearl clouds, decorating, reinventing the will of the soul into a garden of thirsting
he sits, sipping his tea on a porch before meadows and mountains familiar to his voice and supplications, under stars and bright sun, considering dreams, some real some reminders of a good life with songs brightly sung and poetry, the puzzle of words, that some plainly grasp, but for a few, the message remains deep … More CLEARLY
Roger Singer 