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Recent posts

Writing Byte #19: Rain

When you hear the rain, pattering on your roof, tapping on your window… When you feel the rain, cooling the air and poking you on the nose… When you see the rain, reflecting and refracting the surrounding light all in a single drop… It’s telling you its story… the stories of a thousand raindrops, the stories of where each have fallen in solitary moments as the world spins and spins.
Somewhere… A friend laughs. A parent gets sicker. A dream is realized. A heart is broken. A baby is born. A car crashes. A home is made. A child’s innocence is lost.
Somewhere…

Writing Byte #18: Hello and Goodbye

Look. Stop. Breathe. That air was swirling in front of you, waiting to go in through the nostrils and out through the mouth. What do you see? This minute, this second, this moment, you will never meet again. What do you see? Maybe a haunting turbulence reflected back through the black pupil of an iris? Maybe defiant fireworks as they slice the night sky with their knives of color and fire? What do you hear? Maybe a symphony of notes cradling you in its swells and drops? Maybe the familiar rhythm of crickets croaking out their goodnight greetings? What are you touching, breathing, observing? What do you feel? Time is stopping, just for you, to say Hello But it can’t wait for long, so by the time you notice it’s saying
Goodbye.

Writing Byte #17: The Arena

I always hated boxing. How could someone enjoy the violent, mutual mutilation of two unique individuals? The drench of sweat, the clenching of fists, the iron smell of blood… I much preferred tennis, where the players remain a good distance from each other, holding rackets for a last defense. I never liked boxing; I never understood it. In many ways I’m always the careful one, the wary one, the conscious one… I’m aware of the frailness of our human bodies… minds… souls… how just one tap in the right place can send someone reeling, falling, lost…
But sometimes… Sometimes the stakes are raised, sometimes winning that fight becomes just too important to ignore.  Maybe a friend is in danger… or an opportunity comes just within reach… or that challenge just needs to be taken down. My jaw sets, and the screaming warnings of risk and danger fade out of consciousness. They become merely that indistinct rumbling in the background. My breathing steadies, my body tenses, and my eyes focus on th…

Writing Byte #16: Sisyphus

Boulder on a hill, tumbling down, With stubborn resolution, coming back around, Letting loose a cry, a frustrated sound, As the boulder kept on, tumbling down.
Sisyphus gave chase, landing with a bound, Stopping the boulder just as it reached the ground, Shoulder set, teeth gritted and head down and bowed, He roared with the effort, clearly and loud.
Inch by inch, climbing up the mound, As the boulder gained weight pound by pound, Never giving up, staying strong and proud, He struggled to the top, reaching for a cloud,
But anyone knows a cloud’s not a sound- foundation for rest, and so he found, the boulder, fell, turning round and round, As the boulder kept on, tumbling down.
I reached out to him, as he came towards me, wanting to show him, make him see, he didn’t need his boulder, didn’t need to succeed, If he just let go, he could hold on to me.
So for a while he did, intimately, Arms around me, holding so very tightly, But while he stayed, embracing closely, He thought he saw an …

Writing Byte #15: Flying High

The air rises where black tar and yellow meet, Though still, Atmosphere rages with oppressive heat, A hazy glare looking up at clouds and blue arches, Reflected light projecting wet to dry desert ditches.
The space is silent, not a caw or bray, Anticipated breath, held trapped to say, Whoosh! as the car whizzes wildly by, Smothered moment let out, one relieved sigh,
The child laughs, holding tight, as the car steers away, From home, responsibility and childhood play, With the rules, the chores, the parents that tie, on seat belts and knee pads, all kept risk-shy.
Freedom is found, with a key and front seat, As birds fly up high and planes ascend feet, A child, a student, an adult not yet grown,
Finds wings and flies off with the roots that were sown…

Writing Byte #14: Staggered Thought

There’s something… there. Behind the pressure and the noise and the muffled input, behind the headache and the too bright lights and all this..  There’s… something It’s coming… so…. slow. Where is it? The lights they flash. People moving… too fast… speaking… silence. Machines and straps… let me out! Help. Please. I just want… Can’t… think… Maybe it’s… right over there. In the quiet black, inviting. I think I’ll just… rest now. In black.

I breathe in… and remember… This is the same hospital… the same room where she… Left. The accident, the screaming people, the machines that suddenly stopped beeping. It isn’t like that for me. I’m an old man… everyone’s gone now. She was the first, though. I miss… everything about her. It’s funny… I don’t remember yesterday… But I remember her. I breathe out. I still remember. I breathe in. The machine beeps… and beeps… It’s so annoying, really… End of my life and that’s all that’s left: that dang beeping… Oh how nice. It stopped. Did I breathe out? C…