Sharp shadowed and blue faced, the sleepless poetess sits behind the open window and ponders my ancient face; searching the thief who stole the quiet night just when I turned my back so briefly. But will she find that the silence that reflects in me is patiently waiting in the full moon of her eyes?
‘Are you cold?’, I asked the old man in the wheelchair. ‘Not as cold as I could be’, he chuckled. I picked up the grey blanket at his feet and put it back on his lap. He stared ahead so I ignored him and waited for the next lake ferry. Continue reading View from the jetty
I was a pianist. As an existential statement that tells you a whole story. Although I was classically trained, I took to jazz improvisation when I was old enough to understand that the Beatles and the Stones were for adolescent kids with hormone highs. Continue reading Blinded by sight
It was in the year 2013 in a little country within the land of Italy that an old pope put down his robe and said: I am tired. Continue reading Pope Sven, Zen and a girl named Kim
Writer is bullied by his own work! Read it here! Well, it happened to me. I was writing a blog entry about waves of consciousness when the word ‘Three’ popped up on my screen. And again. Three. Like a stuck key, except that it was the whole word. Three. Three. Three. Continue reading Revolting words