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Author Archives: Jim Stewart
The Prince of Rankle
Rankled. Can’t sugar-coat it, just annoyed at everything, mostly myself. It’s chemistry. I should be upbeat. I should feel free: the monkey is gone. I allow the city to choke my peace. I have an idea and pretend it is … Continue reading
10 Great Quotations about Poetry for National Poetry Day
I’m happy to reblog this from Interesting Literature: 10 Great Quotations about Poetry for National Poetry Day.
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Thin Ice
The ice lets me know it’s not ready with a peculiar noise: half crack, half echo. My heart freezes and climbs through my throat into my head, where it tries to look out from my nostrils. My gut stays calm; … Continue reading
Haiku–Jumble Toy
The dog watches my jumble of knots creak and fray; he worries I’ll snap. (top: lillstreet.com; dog: cherylpitt.com)
Do Amazon and Createspace rip off Indie publishers with failure to correctly report sales?
Do Amazon and Createspace rip off Indie publishers with failure to correctly report sales?.
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A Man’s Best Friend
Sleep is an illusion tonight I cannot afford. I pay endless bills to the dark disquiet I have accepted. Mortality closing in sometimes gets my best, until the dog comes and loves me, wondering why I’m still awake. My gratitude … Continue reading
Poker Pout
The gyre of chance: swirls in swirls; the cards are so cold, colder than the click of a door locking out hope. I push my chips to another stack, no regrets, no goodbyes offered, not even “see ya later.” My … Continue reading
Maybe in Another Life
She is a feast of soft lines and deft nooks, a heaviness of promise and allure. Our silent promises cannot be kept. A sharp look of agreement would cut through the hearts of all. Promises we have already made keep us honest … Continue reading
Water and Rock
The head winds in these times: a gale blown in from the south drives the sea to a craggy appointment. It makes a shuttered room clean, just enough light to warm pen and paper bound with years and a hum … Continue reading
Posted in Oregon, Poem, Work, Writing
Tagged coast life, imagination, ocean, weather, writing
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Contact
I write for people awake. I don’t have to yell. Some of our herd: I see their eyes flash; they know they don’t know, but are not afraid. More is heard than said. The thread glows and goes and grows, … Continue reading
Narble Furt Lives 