short stories


the stairs led by each

to the following place

the surface contributed

to the distance – but

by and by opportunity

was past






the cup was being filled

satisfaction was close

at hand   the cup valued

its use and through it

knew the intimacy of lips

in a way we can only envy






they were told that the

the light they saw was dead

dead for millions of years

their eyes perceive only

the past – all that is seen

has already been – this

stopped them in their tracks






the symbol kept confusing

itself with the metaphor

the trail was well worn

so it should have been easy

but that was the trouble

you see!






it leads –  the path

to places seen constantly

yet over and again refused

as notice – for notice

requires as we take – so

much so that most of us

are not willing to give






on the front porch

lay a feather

it lay there very still

the wind had not found it

the porch didn’t mind

the feather was light

and stillness

served it’s purpose






squatting behind a bush

the lord of the manor

never realized that all

he left behind would

contribute to equality

with time…..



1 Comment Add your own

  • 1. Jan  |  November 9, 2011 at 1:17 pm

    This is good stuff. I hardly ever stick with poetry, but this got me. I like the feather on the porch a lot. You’ve been edging up to poetry for a long time. Call them stories. That’s fine. I like the free flow, compared to the congestion of your verbal work on canvas.


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