Passive ArchitectThe tall streets of Venice
How I loved to walk around in the night
a group of college kids on break all fall
.
I purposefully was lost
in the tall streets of Venice
the thick waters
and glowing light
.
Fashion shows by night
glowing stores in glassed out frames
arched way entrances
windows looked upon the parade
happy ten-year-olds realizing age
for the first time
adulthood meant this freedom
Silver Fox Pottery opens the kiln to find these treasures below!
Photo below by SFP.
~
60 Hour Fire
They are slowly burning the house
small kindling held, considered
then thrown into the throat of the fire
cords of wood, floor to ceiling in the living room
the linoleum of the kitchen pulling up
from the misstepped foot
cords in the kitchen, cords holding
up the unsturdy second floor.
~
Cords of wood in an old house
No, they really aren’t burning the house down. 🙂
Images by locavore.ca & Visual Photos & Surface and SurfacePhotography Gallery & Mark Fuchs below, whose image is of another beautiful home nearby falling apart.
Drumming Beat of the Third Line
The drumming beat of the third line
stubbed out
what the silence must mean
if hours before I was to blame.
.
Did you remember to make the appointment for the cat?
No, more silence.
.
Silence that slumbers into deep pillows
drowning out the day
the inconsistent ticking
the kitchen clock
what silence must mean to a person
with closed eyelids
who does not sleep.
The Person in the Mirror
Nervousness stands
a mirror image
finding across the eyes
in the throat
words that wanted out.
The Horizon is on Fire
The horizon is on fire
the ashes splayed across the sky
smeared red and blurred
into dusty creams, crimson and blonde.
In the low winter sun
the images of our surroundings are
so crisp.
The Horizon
The Horizon is being dug away
only to show more sky
caught in our throats by the wind
making us cough.
Please, not the Fort Henry Club
Empty houses
entire neighborhoods
bought up by a city
to tear down treasures
of well-worn steps
smooth wood curved rails
that swim
from the bottom floor to the top of the third story.
St. Anthony’s Basilica
Only in the stone churches of Italy
in Padova perhaps, do children stay young
joyful in stone white faces plastered
near heaven in the church dome.
The gold shimmers like an evening lake
Blue, red and white, diamond pictures of the sun
set against a focal point blue sky
makes the crucifix with gold spirals
reach to me.
Around the rubbed skeleton of the dome
pillars are where the stone angels play, and
when the bells toll, they are laughing.
Thankfully,
In my small city I get caught often
on the sidewalk
walking, running even
just to get exercise
or when I want a coffee
in the morning before work.
.
A boisterous blow in the form of language
opinions, experience, knowledge to know
anything that prevents me from speaking
and ruining the train of thought
.
Thankfully,
I have the gift of tight penmanship
words of my own
whispers against spent breath
when I don’t speak, but only write
to arrange words before letting them fly
out of control
to some poor someone, listening.
Cheating
is a marriage between the rich
level of a family and
the bride of sorrow
who dances from the heart, hurt in love
acknowledging the least
greatest thing
is held secret,
and is what keeps everything together.
