Growing Up A child giggles with glee. Bubbles float chasing chasing bubbles caught Pop! Gone. Bubbles, giggles, a child with glee. A youth disdainfully grasps futility within soapy spheres. Futility bursts fragile bubbles. Futility grasps a youth disdainfully. … Continue Reading →
The Little Stone Chapel 1 Door to little stone chapel opens. I fall into unknown worlds shouting “There’s gold here somewhere!” Balboa hacks through jungle primitives to reach this monument to emptiness erected from head-sized stones after Medusa seduced an… Continue Reading →
Alone, in a crowd Dance beats, thump thump thump, consume, mesmerize, strike fear in my soul. Graceful undulations, writhing slender bodies entrusted to the universe, heart and flesh harmonized in sacred rhythm, if only for an instant, evoke lustful envy…. Continue Reading →
Martha Dustin “On March 15, 1697, the salvages made a descent upon the skirts of Haverhill, murdering and captivating about thirty-nine persons, and burning about half a dozen houses.” – the opening line of Hannah Dustin’s story as told by… Continue Reading →
When threatened Blue ballpoints, bin one. Black, bin two. Red, three. Green, four. Purple ballpoints, blue fountains: there are only four bins. Place on floor. Stomp. Scoop. Discard. Frightened, the world careens out of control. God forbid we get a… Continue Reading →
Ode to a Comforter Spirits of martyred geese, beautiful honking shitting machines, haunt my dreams on long cold nights envelop me in warmth. ©2017 Kenneth W. Arthur
Two Who Dare We greeted with the choreography of two hesitant mutts sniffing each other out, surrendering an awkward quick pat on the back and pull away of men embarrassed by intimacy, an almost-waltz at arms length, over before the… Continue Reading →
Sabbath Wealth, bliss, even God elude our grasping while we scurry and scamper as dim dreams retreat. What if we are not the steadfast hunters but the harried prey? In a world spinning relentless chaos to cloak its soul-sick course,… Continue Reading →
The day I heard The glass-jaw day winces from the deep purple of the bruised sky, drops in a heap, defeated.
Something’s Cooking Whether the cook’s stew or the three witches’ brew Place meat in slow cooker In the poison’d entrails throw No shortcuts to deliver us quicker a fine-cooked meal derives from what we know In a small bowl mix… Continue Reading →
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