Scribbled in the Snow
It shines in the garden,in the white foliage of the chestnut tree,in the brim of my father’s hatas he walks on the gravel.Mark Strand, The Garden Midday today, it started […]
It shines in the garden,in the white foliage of the chestnut tree,in the brim of my father’s hatas he walks on the gravel.Mark Strand, The Garden Midday today, it started […]
A letter found on the aged librarian’s desk after he disappeared into the deeper levels of the library Dear young visitorwhoever you will be, bright-eyed, blue or notwhen you read […]
The past projects itselfinto the present,into politics and policiesinto divisionand democracy’s decaydistorted and changedlike the rippled reflectionsof grazing creatures I passedthe last day of summer. The past presents itselfto the […]
The weight of the wordsin the library winonly and only when readwhen spread on the streetsfor living and dead. But when the wordsbend for the swords of the mighty.when burning […]
Later,later behind his deskthe aged librarian absorbssome ancient words,traces howhis fate is set in ink. He sees howspace-time pathsmeandersfrom the past to presentthrough birth to deathin peace and warcrossing rivers,mountains, […]
Writing about living in two places (and times)
Poems & Stories from The Author Stew
practising for a whole life
haikai poetry matters
Running in the slow lane
The view from here ... Or here!
“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.” — Albert Einstein
chronicling my quarter life crisis