Tag: Impressions

Neo and Classic
November 5, 2025
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| Family History, Prose
She's turning classic, giving her own meaning to the term; narrowing down the choice, detailed somewhat scant, precision stripped to it's bareness, it's natural sequence, towards her neo-persona. Her attire mimics her stride, the now subsided curves of her limbs hide in asexual elegance, they dissolve in the comings and goings of morning coffee, the routines of cats, the crowded city street at noon. She's polishing the silver, but only the pieces she intends to keep; arranges the china, but...

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Omens on the AM
July 20, 2025
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| Prose
¿A flying red demon? Oh no, the scorpion fly, a real insect. He hovers huge and intimidating in the lamps potent glare, showing himself with intention, but for the moment I can only make out the blur of those chopper like, winged layers, and their high pitch rattle. Meanwhile, at the base of the barn, a toad sits unimpressed, shaded in the the damp ground. The week after my odd encounter, a small, greyish, scorpion, landed right at my feet,...

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Disillusion
April 9, 2025
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| Family, Family History, Prose
We are not the illusion.  Hidden from view, deep in childhood, the night comes with crickets, picnics are set nearby the river, a brick home stands proud in the countryside. When I utter brother, mother, father, I expect to feel them even in the distance, able to pull them closer with a simple wish. But what I got is the awkward, the alien in its own country, many a contradiction of terms. I used to believe, but had to stop....

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Drive
December 28, 2024
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| Prose
I need only dive in a sea of potential meaning, fish for a description, a new adjective manifest in musical vibrations, from the Avant Garde keynotes pouring into the cabin. So I drive on, protected in a bubble of steel and glass, the inner sea swishes against its walls. Words to give substance, while the horizon turns an angle; the skyline slips behind dull buildings; the ground tilts, and suddenly, this planet might not be as round. I might be...

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Things that Fly
December 8, 2024
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| Prose
When noticing things that fly, vision strives upward, blackbirds shriek, common gray ones flutter on branches, loaded with nutlets. Beyond the trees, up above, a huge bird of prey, some hawk or eagle, scans the city by air. He passes over the buildings, gliding with patience, unhurriedly, up where time is different, and mountains mock man made towers. A vision wants to take off bad, again and again, to see it all from the heights, because eyes  have wings. Things...

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Night Shift 1
September 16, 2024
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| Verse
There is something about the crickets Paired with summer nights Something about nighttime Sets the atmosphere of dreams into motion So dreams must be a natural tendency of night And crickets  The natural announcers Of the time for dreams Unseen jewels at dusk Murmur of water Rubbing down rocks The garden's faint gleam And left are white diamonds Elegant on leaves One night And the last rain One hour Remains for sleep Rain Time Slumber at dawn They speak about things...

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River
March 2, 2024
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| Family, Family History, Prose
February skies my hearth, wind whispers my name transparent, knowledgable of its nature. I was raised in this winter quadrant, the Sun to the horizon, and they said it's in detriment but I'm not bothered. My name runs through and is lost, but will find other hearths on its unpredictable voyage. Because I randomize, that is my fort, gusts out of synch. But today the Sun has snuggled up to Saturn, and I must see reality, fine as this day's...

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¿Did I Just….?
February 2, 2024
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| Prose
¿Did I just realize truth while caught in the motion, amid the rat race, the traffic jam? Did he just pull up his mask and smile? ¿Did light flood the cabin while I stared, at the dented tail of the car in front of us, and what always has been just took a deep breath, and then exhaled relaxed? ¿Did the past just say hello with a real face, no makeup for the show, no PR? I believe she just...

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Clear Roads
December 13, 2023
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| Prose, Verse
A bit empty, Vacant, Unreachable as clouds. Detached, At the edge of boredom, Unimaginative, Disengaged, The blurred background, A minimalist painting, My canvas almost bare, And all could be. That a bird might traverse my crystalized space, A plane might soar into the deepest blue, Caressing the mist, That wings might spread, New things could appear.

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Strange Riches
December 13, 2023
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| Family History, Prose, Verse
These strange riches given, Stand crumbling on the sullen street of times past. Grandma's house with its ceiling planks bent, A violent crack runs wild, the length of the dining room, Shut doors, melded to frames, Of childhoods past, stories kept, Flooded memories. But Scheherezade still waits inside Arabian Nights, Bound in real leather, tightly fit in the carved Italian bookcase. Framed maps of antique parchment rest about the entrance hall, Leaning on the walls, waiting for something, Maybe the...

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