She read a great deal– devouring ink like soul-water overwhelmed at the monstrous mountains, massive mosaic of frozen thought preserved then thawed in a spongy mind. But the sponge is full, puddles on the floor. We don’t know the details but it’s all over the printer and the glasses and stove and will take more…
I woke up to a gray sky throwing cold, diffused light through my window. Everything coated in a thick, sticky dullness the flaming chariot too tired to burn dropping a blanket instead to smother glowing neon signs and even the Venetian red bricks across the street. I’ve never seen the world so muted all faded…
flowers always flowers mock love mock grief make a mockery of healing as roses bite in treachery and chrysanthemums wither like our cherished ones and flowers always flowers left behind on the garden bench with the way things were before. *inspired by Camille on a Garden Bench by Claude Monet; image from Wikimedia Commons.
Not worst, Not best, either. We chose words that are not real. Or real, but better. Not better but clear. “The worst” is easier than saying “It is.” “No” is easier than saying “In this case it might…” There is no reason that the future or today should be so full of absolutes. We make…
One of my favorite creative writing exercises – not even just an exercise, but a process that can lead to a finished piece – is to chose five sentences at random from five books that I pick from my bookshelves. I then take those five sentences and make a poem from them. Some of the…