Apple and Eagle: A Folk Poem

Oh you are the apple that fell near the tree and I am the eagle that flew to the sea and this is my orchard that grows near the shore and here are your seedlings, the children I bore. I planted you here, love the fairest of fruits the rain here is warm, love so…

At The Hotel

At this hotel the night falls slowly; the lane goes purple with the solar waning. The sun makes light of both profane and holy, arriving like an angel king attended by the raining that graces dust with tiny rivers; that crowns the curb with royal purple clovers. His largess is to feed uncounted givers and…

Talking About Christmas Ahead of Time

When I was sixteen I wrote a novelette about a large family living in the country in the 1800′s. They were a merry bunch and had the most awful names and I had a blast writing about them. In the story, one of the elder brothers has a very special protective relationship with a sister…

Hurrah!

I’m quite happy today. Someone was getting rid of their Finale 2008 software and was willing to part with it for a mere $70.00 on Amazon. I snatched it up. Despite claiming to be for both Mac and PC, It refused to install on my Macbook Pro (a laptop I’m borrowing from school) but installed…

Said He, or He Said?

American writing, like American music, is becoming flatter and flatter. It’s to do with rules, and relying on them for things that ought to be accomplished by other things instead. In many older books, dialogue tags run with the word ‘said’ first, but this practice is now being discouraged. Unfortunately, it’s become a cutesy habit,…

The Way It Wasn’t

The where, the why, no one cares for but I – the road we crossed decades ago when we were lost extravagant trees and their hospitable branches abandoned houses that gaped at us happily sun-shafts that made a monastery of every overgrown lawn – these are memories; these are worlds. The lone, the lost, the…

Nativity

Jesus is born! Let us do what we can, tenderly weave him a garment of song in the pattern of Mary, unsullied, unwary, consenting to carry and wrap him in clothing of Man. The steep vault of sky stoops down in a dome stars painting icons of him in its bow While the voice of the…

Classic Country Rock

Now I lay on my bed and I slid feet-first into night like a bath, I was half immersed and the bath was cold. Boy, she was cold as the sea-fringe scum. Boy she was bold as a martial drum. Boy she was black as old Sheba’s Queen. And she started to keen. Oh that…