Posts

Life limited

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  a line on the palm a line in a poem how many words can one write with a worn nub of a pencil are heartbeats numbered  due to sleepless nights  in games we seek our future  on ouija boards  and rolls of the cleromancy die if you turn a tarot’s noose fate is written in the book  but fortunes folly can lie

Write your memoir with WRIGHTINGS

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Watercolor & poetry

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J. L. Wright Lari Jo Wallace Edwards Sharon Purcell  

Am I the Elder?

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Born in the sixties, from a jungle on the other side of the world, body bags on the nightly news were counted. Growing up in the seventies those enemies became church refugees dark skin, smooth voiced, heartthrobs In the eighties, the world was mine eager to explore and learn  ready to make a dent of change Real world crashed the nineties living in a daily grind paying back with nothing to pay forward  The aughts, depressed mortality  paternal loss looking for something  shifting ideas and ideals Teens gifted financial independence  freedom to escape expectations  filling someone else’s dreams Now, the twenties, twist the flesh hoping to be top shelf

Frost

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  Frost  The new calf lies in the matted grass. Her tired mother stands protective Crisp blades cut the umbilical cord like frost on a wire a bubble of stillness Standing alone The braided wire, taunt a fence between matted grasses mottled with frost bubbles  and frost teeth

Room for Stuffing

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The books of the world  do not have all the answers  or all the stories. So, here I write something familiar,  relatable but new. Let my words rattle your gut knock loose undigested tales the ones set aside  like cold mashed potatoes  when there is giblet dressing. There may not be room enough  but hold fast  measure their importance weigh out staples of caloric intake but do not throw them out. These stories are common,  leftovers shall we say, cheap and easy to improve. Some better more substantial more satisfying. But do they really need  more butter  or gravy? 

Buried Shoes

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  Buried shoes on my feet, all afternoon and night tending bar and waiting tables  happy hour until closing silly Irish storytellers sing shanties   tending bar and waiting tables racecar owners tip heartily silly Irish storytellers sing shanties managers provide support outside of work   racecar owners tip heartily dog greets me with wagging tale mangers provide support outside of work showering away the grease smell   dog greets me with wagging tale my feet tired, sore, and odiferous work shoes buried as if something has died on my feet, all afternoon and night