Streams of consciousness come from all quarters,
Hurrying to create a sense of balance,
To find peace in some blessed gathering place.
Our origins are underground, but
We tumble down waterfalls,
Stretch and roll along shores both verdant and blasted,
Before resting in an ocean
That may need to cover the entire world before the end times. Continue reading
She perched, edge and center, on the metal folding chair, ankles crossed and angled toes barely touching the floor, her SoftRose painted lips pursed, her eyebrows raised even higher above their normally penciled boundaries, a single vertical line deepening between those brows, but slightly favoring the left, while two small circles of color heated each cheek, as if they’d been purposefully applied with a sable brush. Continue reading
Nitia drew the back of her hand across her damp forehead and rested her palm on the front of her hip as she surveyed the basement playroom. Continue reading
Elbows on bent knees,
Hands dangle between, wings on a gentle-breezed bird.
Butt planted, chilly on Autumnal Earth.
Grass spent, golden and crackling
Under a sky sharp as blue porcelain.
Leaves flicker down from balding trees,
The memories still, cut deep.
Pic from the National Portrait Gallery website, UK. Photographer Lewis Carroll
“Come on Alice, tell the tale.”
“We won’t be shocked, dearest.”
“There’s nothing to tell. He was a shy man, bit of a stutterer, and very good at storytelling and maths.” Continue reading