Drove by the old house today. A stranger in waiting, sold the shame. Thus far, looming sadness hung in the earthy frame. In the snow encrusted trail. Further on down a humble gravel road. Sitting on a rocky fence. Composed centuries before, in haste, by a homesteader's plight. I had become slack about what steered … Continue reading Stories, Yet to be Told
The spawning of this... an ancient, newly built, dynasty. Omits glitter laced in martyrdom facing toward mastery, caked with pious dictatorship. It is placed upon an isle of baneful refineries. There is no need to define an antagonist. They understand who they are. Alone, they are, the only pear shaped, placid matriarchs with a bronze … Continue reading the Family Circus
What an after-bite? This lone house. Leaving all who have entered. Only stranger than before. Elusive participants in vigorous fights. Pastime for plights. Decoys for spite. This house has an after-bite. To the estranged, stranger... Something not quite right. Something...is not quite right.
Religiously, a book with no spine. A sisterhood cloaked by falsehoods. What of the charm? Belonging to the woman with masks for misdeeds. How did it feel? Ignoring the abuse? Spinster Sister how can shame be the family's noose. ∃ Your summer winds blow in shallow. Leaving no taste, no permanence... That cannot be erased. … Continue reading Spinster Lee
Not a people person His photos always that way. Thus, the beginning of trite and new... And, admiring life on display. 'You are just like your old Man.' Well, maybe that had been so. Yet, I did, as always, as told. 'There is clutter all around us,' I would say. Or, so I thought. Looking … Continue reading the Old Man