Category: Writing

A Whisper Among the Willows

6/20/2024

I am about the head out on a journey to a place that doesn’t require shoes or shirts and arms will be itchy and legs wll be sore and minds will be racing while I head out the door. There will be whispers among the willows and wakings from beds that sway in the moonlight a pillow under head. There will be sunshine in the morning give thanks for looking over us. Your warmth provides cushions from the coldness of the North. The edge of the darkness will wander around your feet while the path lit up ahead will stamp out a beat. Beautiful buzzing bees will dance from petal to flower us with honey, sweet and drizzly under our tongues. Your waist up to the water will be surrounding every inch and bog full of bull frogs as they cantor in the wind. The whispers among the willows once again will wake us from our slumber in the pine grove by the windmill in our minds.

The Hardest Lesson

7/10/2023

A free write exercise. July 10, 2023

Writing Prompt - He learned the hardest lesson of his life and had the scars, both physical and mental, to prove it.

It was the beginning of another week. Another day. Another month. He set out to make it be a different day then the last 273 days.

His mind had just begun wrapping itself around facts that haunted him for what felt like an eternity. Scars had developed behind his eyes so he saw them everywhere he looked. Not physical in nature but actual in their emotionality. What does that mean to him? What does it say? He wanders around the desert wanting water but he's carrying it all on his back. He could drink for days but he doesn't have a straw. He could walk out into the ocean but the salty sea would swallow him. He could wander down the path up the hill over the bluff onto the sand into the sun over the rocky pebbles of the wave battered beach.

He should whistle but his lips are dry from parched conversations in the moonlight. He draws his wrist out in front of him, looking at the veins as they pulse. He knows he's alive but he's yet to live again. He's learned the hardest lessons but can't move away or towards them. He's stuck. He's stationary. He's unwaveringly undecided. He's wilting under the heat of the moment that painted physical and mental scars on his body and his mind. He's wondering what he can do. He's wondering what he can say. He's pondering the meaning of those lessons that he learned 273 days ago.

12 minutes pass and he hasn't blinked. 11 more and he starts to whisper. 10 minutes drag him up onto his feet. 9 leaves fall from the tree in front of him. 8 times he stuck his foot out from off the curb yet put it back down without moving ahead. 7 meals he ate alone without taking a bite. 6 rolls of the dice before he saw the eyes of the snake. 5 fingers ran through his hair and he relaxed. Finally. 4 minutes passed before their stare was broken. 3 beers between the 2 and they became 1 again.

I Am

5/22/2023

I am tired.
I am sore.
I am winded.
I’m spread out on the floor.
I’m scared.
I’ve fared.
I am wounded.
I’m sent out the door.
I’ve thought.
I’ve pondered.
I am whistling.
I’m going to the store.
To pick up some bread and milk and eggs.
It’s time for some French Toast.

Dusted with Sunbeams

12/13/2021

The pinks and purples and orange flares
Are something beheld with our eyes unfolded
The strings of pillowy clouds blanked in hues
Rising as if lifted from the ever warming sky
Dusted with sun beams rising from the horizon
The light slowly turns from pinks to subtle blues
Purples fade away as the sun begins it's rise for the day
She whispers hints of the coming winter
Soon it will fly, the snow will have its say
With satin white sprinkled boughs in the wind swept hallowed December
We'll soon hear her singing

I couldn't believe what I saw when I opened the curtains this morning. It was still dark throughout the house yet I could see light peeping through the curtains. The world was still waking up and the sky put on a beautiful display.

Was It Just a Dream?

12/4/2021

Weight of the world on my shoulders
Cliche as it may sound
I'm feeling the brunt of these boulders
As they push me into the ground
Their gritty kind of exterior
Made of dirt and petrified wood
Grinds deeply into my skin
Hardly stand up with all I could
Where are my support beams
Gleaming in the sun
Leaning against a road sign
Full of holes from a gun
A painted secant on the avenue
Telling us not to go
As the tumble weeds gather
And wander to and fro
A wasteland full of nothing
Void of thought and wonderment
Is it a dream or a nightmare
That haunts with detriment
Awake with a sweatiness
Burning in your pillow
Your breath can finally slow
After this fallowed night time sentiment

Morning Ritual

11/18/2021

One of my favorite parts of the morning is my morning coffee ritual.

I start off with freshly roasted beans from Vermont Coffee Company, specifically their Dark Roast. Their Dark Roast has always been a favorite of mine as it offers a rich, roasted, dark, almost burnt chocolatey intensity but it has a pleasant aroma and taste that isn't harsh as sometimes can be typical with some of the other dark roast coffees I have tried.

When I first open the air tight canister of beans, it's magical. You know they are fresh when they have a nice sheen on them. This is a greasy bean house. You know it's good when they're greasy. After that initial silent moment just after opening the canister, I have a quick reflection on what's about to happen. I gently pour the beans, offering themselves up to me when it's their time, into my coffee grinder. If my wife happens to be around when I'm doing this I shout out a nonchalant "Noise!" and hit the button. Suddenly the beans are dancing with each other, becoming a finer version of their former self.

After the joyous chaos of bean grinding is complete I fill the kettle with water and get my French press ready for our little morning party. Up to the mark and it's time to heat up the bath.

Amidst the heating of the water, it's time to measure out the heaping scoops. With my measuring spoon, I dive into the freshly ground goodness, filling my French press with just enough of the black gold dust.

Thirty-two ounces of water and six heaping spoonfuls is all it takes. No more. No less. Perfection...

Just coming off its boil, the water is ready to be poured, but I must wait. Thirty seconds to be exact. Slowly, in small circles I gently pour the hot water over the ground coffee beans, letting them breath as I go. Little bubbles come to the surface as I pour the scalding water, making sure to envelope every last bit of coffee in a warm embrace, up to the fill mark on my press. It's therapeutic watching something like this. The beans are going from solid form to liquid form. It's a satisfying feeling, taking a solid little bean and transforming it into something that gives off pure joy in the form of warmth, comfort and energy.

With a stir and the setting of a timer, I wait...

I get slight hints of burnt chocolate and raspberry in the air while I wait for my coffee to brew, pondering what I'm going to accomplish today. I gather my mug and half 'n half awaiting the moment where I can push the plunger down into the dark abyss, separating liquid from solid, completing the metamorphosis from one thing to another. Bean to brew. Cold to warm. Asleep to awake. Half to whole. From apart to together again. The cycle continues...

...and then I pour my first mug.

Next Stop Harlem onto Grand Central

11/30/2018

The tapping like the beat of a failing heart slows to a halt.
"Next Stop Westport!"
Jolting to a halt head dizzy from the shaking writing shaking stopping shaking breaking the silence along the tracks and then it's gone.
"Next Stop South Norwalk!"
Clicks and pops under feet. Giant trestles bend and give just a little under the weight.
"Next Stop Rowayton!"
New passengers every stop and old ones getting off. His accent different from the one before. A couple this time. Questions answers questions thoughts as the door between the cars opens with a sudden racket of the rails.
"Next Stop Darien!"
Financial chatter dinner talk reminiscing friendly walks internal dialogue drones on. The sun it draws closer to the water as lights come on in windows passing far and alarm bells ring when the doors shut closed.
"Next Stop Noroton Heights!"
Criss-crossing streets with headlights shining crossing under bridges below. Above the trees the daylight slows blowing clouds turning in for the night.
"Next Stop Stamford!"
Reflections in the windows bring scenes to life from both sides at once. Silhouettes dancing from right to left in the waning sky. The fading signs of graffiti look like dancing cave drawings in this light, dancing along our way to the city.
"Next Stop Greenwich!"
Incandescent lights light driveways overlooking train tracks, bridges, over passes under trestles.
"What time do we get into the city?"
Startled from my awakened slumber.
"Next Stop Harlem onto Grand Central"

Blinky Lights

8/17/2018

Blinky lights flicker as strings render chords
Bridging the break from the 1st to the 4th
7ths and 9ths bring tension resolved
When released from the grasp of suspended tones

The Grit and the Gravel

7/24/2018

As the grit and gravel spread out before me
The fallen limbs befitted with moss
The northern breeze unsettled the branches
That formed the arbor under which I crossed

With bark lined walls befallen with debris
The turn up ahead towards the water’s edge
Could take the ground from under your feet
Turn grit to plank over the waterfall’s crest

The impervious rumble over rocks so smooth
Down the bank towards the weathered ‘stead
Through stitches of roots like saplings’ feet
Would cause a near tumble of foot over head

On a path full of grit and gravel I tread
Towards my own haven, evermore I’ve been led

The Fridge Wins Again

8/18/2017

It was the night before last
that I stepped into the kitchen
I'm thirsty I thought
and my mind I've got a stitch in

Racing for the fridge
at a pace no one's beatin'
fill my belly with ale
I should get something to eat then

Much to my chagrin
that's the last clang I'll hear now
The fridge is but dry
when it comes to the beer stow

What a fool lost his plunder
'cause his mind was but under
the foley once asunder
the vale the week's blunder

Fat tire's the choice
Not a bike but a brew
a delicious new belgium
styled ale to chew

Not chewy like most
but delicious to boast
or toast with a glass
in your hand to the host

I could keep on going
but the toffee's not done
toffee for banoffee
will be had 'til there's none

The fridge wins again in it's quest for glory
this silly old tale could be told as a story
at bedtime for children but not about ale
as little kids aren't ready for this little tale

Goodnight Wolf Moon

1/27/2017

I could see the skeletal shadow of the trees tonight
As the moon shone with an awesome air of light so bright.

Reflecting off the snow the dark hue shone through
Moving, swaying like waltzing crooked fingers urging you to come closer.

Drifts of snow shifted under the weight of the wind
While the light wanes and fades into black.

A pine bough lopped from the main branch
Dragged through the snow
Leaving green prickly bread crumbs
Almost begging for new life as a wreath.

Bedtime calls when the moon is at its summit
Drawing the covers up to your chin like the water to the shore.

Goodnight wolf moon.

Tasteful Licks Stuck in Fits

8/23/2016

Meeting Ellis Paul, Vance Gilbert and the amazing group of people on the Cape this summer was a jaw-dropping time full of inspiration and mind clearing thoughtfulness. I was blown away by the talent and community we built while staving off dehydration due to the heat and a lack of air conditioning. I can't wait to do it all again.

As the warm breeze blew through doors ajar,
our minds in full hum unfurled, unfolded, unobstructed.
Tasteful licks stuck in fits, unstrung from our cases untangled in bits...

With ideas buzzing through our minds
Words being thrown to paper
Drawing upon another chapter in my book
a day or two later

The freezer felt like a respite from the heat
But the minds together as one came to a heady brew
I began this adventure alas we all did too
To spur on inspiration amid scores of ideas anticipation

A free write started the flowing of ink out of our minds
the flow, a blink, drawings distorted,
submerged of the unsorted sort
As it began it ended, the fingers soar and voices hoarse
From tasteful licks stuck in fits, unstrung from our cases untangled in bits...

Free Writing #1

11/7/2012

What's in the way to gain the fame of the name game.
The snow fly trouble bubble doubled into one.
I try and surface what is under the cover of lightness and fondness and likeness but it takes a moment of stepping back, letting the light hit my face before I realize what it is that I'm really looking at.
My realization of numbers and troubles and stubborn fumbles bumps me back awake.
I've seen it.
I lived it.
I saw it from another point of view.
I realize now what I've been missing.
It's our time to show each other what we're made of.
To take this opportunity, a second chance, to bring to light what's wrong in this place.
What's missing in this space.
What's needing to be replaced.
Concentrate my frustration towards something special, towards something beneficial, towards something and enlightening.
Bring it to the masses to spread and multiply and create and procreate over and over until what was once spread can now be held together as one.
Bring it close to your heart and see what it does.
See the warm and feel the sight of it.
Keep the view within but share it with your friend.
Free write until your fingers bleed and pick up where you left off the day before.

I saw a man

4/13/2012

It was 7:45. 65 on the highway, exit 7 and I stop. I saw a man standing on this same spot holding up a sign the other day "will work for food". Just trying to make it by for another day. Could have been anyone in his previous life, before whatever happened...happened. For sure he's down on his luck. Did he deserve it? Maybe it was meant to be. He could be the nicest man you'd ever meet or the biggest jerk in the world. Either way, down on his luck. You can't help but wonder. Lost his job at the factory. Let go on Wall Street. Stop and say hello, throw a dollar or two? Try to look busy until the traffic light turns green. You're off and back to what you do. Every now and again you look back and see someone do what you couldn't.

I saw a man.

Today he's not there. No sign, no ruffed up dirty shirt and overcoat. No missing teeth. No one to wonder about. No one to avoid eye contact with. Maybe he made it. Maybe he didn't. You put in your time it's late you're tired but nice and warm on this unseasonably cold afternoon. You wonder what it's like to sleep on the curb when it's 25 degrees.

I saw a man.

Pulling into the driveway of your manicured lawn, sprinklers were meant to be shut off last night. The driveways' a mess with toys and bikes. The things we must worry about. Open the door, give your wife and daughter a kiss. Your wife got home early, put a fire on and cooked a nice meal, a little cottage pie. My favorite. New York Nightly News announcement: "Homeless man down on his luck gets the break he has been waiting for!"

I saw a man.

Can't be so I turn. Standing with his sign, his ruffed up dirty shirt and overcoat. Missing teeth smiling from ear to eat. Now all eyes on him. Maybe he'll make it. Maybe he won't. No more of a need to wonder or even worry. Just to think. What would I have done. How would I have survived. What would have pulled me into the next day. Could have been that one person. That one kind soul. That one believer that took a chance and bought him a sandwich and a coffee and a $1 ticket to freedom.

I saw a man.

An Impromptu Mind Explosion...

8/11/2009

I sit still and let every outside influence, every sound, every sight, every minuscule inhabitant, whether conscious or not, leave my mind's eye. The ebb and flow .... interruption .... phone rings, done .... ebb and flow.