

Photography, a SestinaA good photograph is a captured thought, the emotion in action for once caught still, There is no passage, no deep respect for time, It will be one surreal seven-by-five dream, and once fully developed will endure forever, even if it doesn't follow all the rules What is the exception to the rule? That impossibly placed, fleeting thought implanted in glossy paper forever Percolating in the wash like that time that only zooms in between dreams at a stand still.Photography, a Sestina
Still, I wonder how you bend the rules, and how those rules govern the dreams &nbs


Prism of Rose: A Short StoryPrism of Rose A wired hand reaches through the ground between us, grasping at the sky with each of its leathered fingers. Sprouts of green adorn it like the emerald rings of a cadaver. It leans back and forth, undoubtedly restless and struggling for comfort below the ground. The pairing hand lies across the road from us, pairs lining each side. To think beneath the cement, along that yellow, center line, there are innumerable darkened heads slowly dying in shallow urban graves. We stood in the courtyard looking down at these skeletal hands, completely unaware of their nature.Prism of Rose: A Short Story


Sestina 2We used to sit on the beaches in winter at sunset Waiting solemnly for that first year's sunrise But it only arrived like a mismatched doublet A failing shadow of compromise and with the new day illuminating our dismay With disturbed reactions we learned to socialize We looked beyond our disappointing locale with social eyes An expectation destroyed more brilliantly than any sunset and we only stood in dismay We waited, haggardly, for that second sunrise but despite the most elaborate compromise the journey ended an indelicate doublet Carl donnedSestina 2


Sestina 1On the vessels of thought there are few quiet berths Few places free of tethered lines and knots Beneath blue velvet civilization passes out of sight And the gentle saline air Drifting not only to those in the brig barred But across the so finely sailing oddSestina 1
Among the eye-averting awed Bloodied with one another in rebirth The siren sounds devotions as a bard And with her song all hope becomes naught Its final scream vibrating through still air Slowly fading from earshot and sight.
A battalion of feelings dispatched to cite The sacrifice to infatuation
Previous PageNext Page