Something heavy sits. It is the colour of machinery. If you asked our victim, the one sat upon, he whom has not got breath to speak with, “how heavy is that, that thing?” would whispered response satisfy? Read on… The doctor knows how little any ordinary citizen, thus prostrate, understands about weight. You see? AContinue reading “Something Heavy Sits”
Tag Archives: writing
Geese and the Twelve 0’clock News
Any geese who land are seized and eaten. People are hungry, thirsty. We live by a great water under whatever makes for shelter, boiling the liquid, thorough. Once, things were golden, machines sent messages back and forth, the heart was studied, moon and star as well. Binary billions built few and built some. Of that,Continue reading “Geese and the Twelve 0’clock News”
I Cannot Be Sure He is Dead
My neighbour is waiting, impatient. I rock slow. He is bent double by modern chemistry, stands in the centre of a thousand intersections, gathers outside the liquor store, one bony hand stretched toward fuel, more fuel, just a little more fuel. Tawdry is the word. I rock slow. What is there to be done aboutContinue reading “I Cannot Be Sure He is Dead”
Wont To Go
This morning offered another blank sheet of paper, empty as any world could bleach to, flat, two-dimensional, sharp edged… ready to fill. The wary play safe and add depth to a new day with song or an articulate paint-brush or, perhaps, just wrap their dead fish, pre-disposal. At noon, our city bustled. I bustled not,Continue reading “Wont To Go”
Have You Eaten?
Mine is not breakfast, it is lunch and I am at the Marina. I have a sweet roll, a cup of cheap coffee and a moment to share with the geese. Winged beasts of a good size strut past, their young miming grace, feigning interest, following, doing what they must and not considering it. WasContinue reading “Have You Eaten?”
The Symphony of SortsI have a symphony, of sortsoutside.My window, openfor the whileof summer,sendsbold sounds of some small childwith brand-newlungsin here.There are birds,as in any song of nature.There are cotton clouds,busyness,intentionup and down the street.I was napping,sinful in my disregardof wakeful living,my boreddisdain.Sun with air cheers the musty corners buttoday,I am sotired.
May 26, 2026
I am in pain, people. Ouch. The pain has at least a little to do with being out of shape, lack of exercise, abuse of the body in one way or another. Well, perhaps it could be traced more to an unwitting abuse of the body.. that abuse which time and lack of knowledge inflicts.Continue reading “May 26, 2026”
Whom Do You Believe
Rich and endless Bob Ross blue, with dotted dumpling-shapes is ceiling, anyway, a limit over ant-farm day. The teacher’s mouth reveals how water vapour scatters light in atmosphere, makes it glow a certain colour, offers up a boundary, conceals the dark and million stars – oftentimes, the moon from me. I have seen some picturesContinue reading “Whom Do You Believe”
April 17
Oh my. The writer/singer/songwriter/guitar playin’/piano playin’ has come to an interesting point. In very recent days, my efforts at art have been remarked upon, spontaneously, by persons whose opinions I know I can trust. A singer, a great singer, a trained singer, a music knowledge person that I know very well – just up andContinue reading “April 17”
Horizon Is Illusion
Slap-lapping water, with a little imagination, can float the solid earth we stand upon, watching a loading boat. Hungry, an eager ferry is big enough to carry several cars, but seems a shade too small for that close-up. Fresh-painted steel appears of grander stature when the captain’s tower takes an hour, sinking at horizon, nearContinue reading “Horizon Is Illusion”
Robert On The Air 