Tag: Impressions

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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Familiar Stranger
July 18, 2023
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| Family, Prose
We don't know who he is. Some days, a misunderstood prophet, come back from the last days of his trials, when the townspeople wouldn't listen. Others, an artist taken over by a passion, meaning to write up in a frenzy, unable to stop himself, in some quest against time. ¿Will he reveal the secrets commended? His violin bold drama. Soon after, hands strike the piano keys composing his own pieces, at times morose, later epical. He tiktoks existential, wielding a...

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Pigeons
May 13, 2023
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| Prose
We still notice them, sometimes, but soon forget their presence. These days they swish more impetuously, in front of speeding vehicles, barely making it, overconfident. They stare down at us, perched on a myriad cables overhanging our city's space. Curious groups overseeing our bustle, the haste of our misunderstood time.   Poised on roofs or in the hollows of a rickety overpass, their plumped up chests point to the sky dignified. Then, a steep dive. In brief trips from one...

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