It is on occasion, after a day of drenching rain, they come out to play. Rain is music to their earthly souls, a primitive reminder of the percussion of sex, the need to partner-up and get down to some serious love making in the wet grass and dirt as lightning bugs and stars ramp up to flicker.
In the Amish Country, night crawlers are not neighborhood hoodlums. They don’t hang around on street-corners at two o’clock in the morning smoking pot. They aren’t out dealing Meth or accosting senior citizens for some meager amount of cash to buy a hit of crack cocaine. Continue reading
There is an abundance of love poetry for the simple reason that its emotional upwelling is so strong. Love emotions feel wonderfully good and cannot be contained. All artists strive to capture the essence of love. In contrast is the turmoil of divorce and all the accompanying emotions of betrayal and loss. All poets are a tuning fork for the expression of these feelings. If one lives, one is emotional. Death is the one that is emotionless. Continue reading
I believe cultures resonate to the vibrations artists create and instill upon their work. Author’s words carry the weight of their focal points. This focus can help or harm the society into which their creations permeate.
As an example, a comedian stands in front of a community and pokes fun not at everyone in general but at a select group of people. The vibration moves and resonates with like seeds of prejudice harbored by his audience and grows. Soon we have ill feelings being expressed against a select group of people. Good or bad? Continue reading
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I have been writing poetry since the age of twelve and created my first chapbook at the age of fourteen. After showing a few sample poems to friends and neighbors, the chapbook was relegated to a dusty drawer to disintegrate into fodder for a rat’s nest. Some of the poems were good, many I am sure were bad, but all originated from a bludgeoned or joyful heart, mine. I am almost certain the rats found them more pleasurable than any of my human readers. Continue reading
The motor runs
Of discontent, Continue reading
to the broken fellow
who went to war.
than you get
to your employer. Continue reading
I soon discovered that the Vulture had been recruited as a delivery boy. He was dispensing the goods and rather efficiently to Kim’s clients.
I needed to get out ahead of him if I wanted to witness a transaction, so when the Vulture left Market St. to go down fifth, I moved on down Market and went into a t-shirt shop that Two Fingers had solicited when I had been tailing him. I cruised down one of the aisles to the rear of the store near a set of stairs and parked myself behind a rack of Giant’s pullovers. I pretended to browse with interest through the shirts. Continue reading
I was led into the Tenderloin District. My boys entered an apartment building about a block from City Hall. Before they entered, Two Fingers gave the Vulture a dressing down. His head dropped and his hands disappeared into his pockets as he stood there like a sponge and soaked it up. That’s how kids get molded into criminals, how terrorists become terrorists, they are weak and easily manipulated by the criminal mind. Continue reading