Hello, folks. I’d like to let you know my poem “Bus Stop” is now available to read at LatinosUSA. Much gratitude goes to esteemed editor Michelle Navajas for sharing this poem with all of you. Sincerely appreciated, Michelle.
she stood there stoic and still as a river rock cairn at the crossroads bus stop every afternoon alone save for her reluctant shadow that always seemed to pull away from her clawing at the gravel to unpin itself from this dirty-faced girl with willow whip arms and a mangled knot of corn silk hair…
Greetings, friends. Just a note to let you know my poem “The Daisy Ring” has been published at LatinosUSA. Editor Michelle Navajas does such a wonderful job of sharing various writers’ offerings with her readers and it’s always an honor to be published by her. I’m sincerely grateful, Michelle.
“Hmm?” she murmured Her gaze caught somewhere In the rainy neon night-world Beyond the coffee shop window Her fingers weightless Feather-like In my hand Ethereal Furnace-hot
“I found thee in a faerie copse Alighting on each flower fair And as I ‘proached thee in the hopes Of snaring thee in lovers’ ropes Thou disappeared into thin air…”
She looked at me then A faint smile teasing Her lips “Your poetry is terrible,” she said…
Hello, friends. Just a quick note to let you know my poem “The Cairn” is now available at LatinosUSA. Many thanks to editor Michelle Navajas for being so kind as to publish this piece. Truly appreciated, Michelle.
a handful of stones the currency of a hardened heart cannot purchase a reprieve from the weight of mountains upon my soul
scree of memories who can navigate the slope of ankle-breaking regrets the sharpened shale of the empty slate where hope was once etched and now only dust remains…
Hey, folks. My poem “I’ve Come at Last to Anhedonia” is now available at LatinosUSA. Much gratitude to editor Michelle Navajas for publishing this piece. Sincerely appreciated, Michelle.
“I’ve come at last to Anhedonia that bleak and melancholy land beyond the god-forsaken desert sand far ‘cross the sea of memories where sunlight fades and none has e’er returned…”
Just a note to let you know Gobblers by Masticadores has published my poem titled “Anchor.” Thanks to editor Manuela Timofte for her kindness in sharing this piece with all of you.
“she sat there 9,000 miles away on the edge of her bed or the ledge of her building I never knew which and talked about anchors and the black depths of depression and what it would feel like to fly…”
Greetings, friends. My poem “My Life Reads Like a Suicide Note” is now live at Hotel by Masticadores. I’m so thankful to editor Michelle Navajas for publishing this unusually dark and intense poem. Much gratitude to you, Michelle, for being willing to share writing that deals with difficult subjects. We all have voices that need to be heard.
“my old man died alone on a busted sofa on a September farm in the middle of nowhere with a gut full of prescription drugs and a poorly scrawled note left on the kitchen table
“something went wrong in my head”
it said
he checked out without tipping the bellboy the cheap fuck remorseless to the end
and in his final act on planet earth he also killed me…”
Also, please consider following and subscribing to Hotel by Masticadores, where you’ll discover a world of wonderfully imaginative and profound writing.
Greetings, folks. Gobblers by Masticadores has published the latest installment of my short haiku/senryu collections titled “A Few Haiku (21).” These small collections consist of six haiku and/or senryu. Much appreciation goes to editor Manuela Timofte for her kindness in sharing these little ones with her readers. I hope you like them.
Hello, everyone. My new short creative nonfiction story titled “The Graves of Saint Paul” is now live at Hotel by Masticadores. I’m truly grateful to editor Michelle Navajas for sharing this piece with her readers at Hotel. It’s a bit of an anomaly for me as I generally write poetry exclusively. Back in my younger days (prior to giving up writing for twenty years out of frustration), prose was my vehicle for expressing myself, and although none of my fictional pieces from my early years found a home at a publishing house, they still hold meaning for me. It was a thrill to actually complete a short story again after thirty-three years, and I hope this is only the beginning and that more will come. This piece is based on elements of fact, with a bit of creative license included. Thanks a bunch, Michelle, for this opportunity.
“My mother lay in the ground at my feet beneath sun-bleached summer grass and faded plastic flowers and a headstone I hadn’t seen for nearly ten years. Her name, Victoria, clung to the gray stone above a bas-relief of pines and wild flowers and blue birds. She’d asked for a cross on her headstone—made it clear to everyone that she desired her faith to be front and center after she died—but my father, in his infinite malice and pettiness, had chosen some random wilderness picture rather than honor her wish. Just one more reason I hated him.
And now, his name sullied my mother’s headstone.
Ten years. Ten years of shame and regret. I hadn’t visited my mother since the headstone was erected shortly after her burial. For months after her death, I made excuses to avoid the trip to town, to the cemetery. At first, it was too raw, too soon. Maybe in a few weeks, a month or two, then I could do it. And then my life flipped upside-down again and I relocated out-of-state unexpectedly and that felt like a more legitimate reason, but I always intended to visit her grave like a good son should. Except…except maybe I wasn’t such a good son after all…”
Also, please consider following and subscribing to Hotel by Masticadores, where you’ll discover a world of wonderfully imaginative and profound writing.
Hey, friends. I’d like to let you know my poem “How Swift the Stream” is now live at Hotel by Masticadores. Many thanks to editor Michelle Navajas for publishing this poem. It’s an honor and a delight, Michelle.
“as gloaming eventide stalks dying light to ambuscade the remnants of the day diurnal requiems give way to night how quick the gloom eviscerates its prey
regretful skiffs of shame contuse the dusk as shadows skulking on earth’s wretched rind asphyxiate its palpitating husk how cruel the dark and all it renders blind…”
Also, please consider following and subscribing to Hotel by Masticadores, where you’ll discover a world of wonderfully imaginative and profound writing.
Silent Pariah 