Category Archives: Writing
This uses the form Brian invented for his Book of Uncommon Prayer and is used here out of deep profound respect–jrs Who never met but I would offer a few years off my life to watch them measure each other. … Continue reading
I’m supposed to be finishing a novel but I’m not. It’s a murky late summer day with an uncertain sky and a directionally challenged breeze smelling of salt and fir, marsh and cedar. My characters are all hovering around the … Continue reading
A young boy, dressed in clean but threadbare jeans and a shirt that might have once been red, took in my leathers and my road-weary black Harley. He then shot me a look that was older than he was. “Mister? … Continue reading
(for William Stafford) Your poems run the gamut;you have blessed us with musicof realization and understanding.Many of those poems were bornon your couch, lying on your back,looking up at your journal.Really? Their birth is asastonishing as their venerable lives.
(Here’s an example of a the beginning of a daily writing session. Initially, I made no edits. But I couldn’t stand it, so now it’strying to become a poem. I’ve changed the original, so my firsteffort has been subverted. Silly … Continue reading
Okay. Another shameless plug: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/white-ravens/id1439393149?ls=1&mt=11 The collection goes live tomorrow.
Coming October 31, 2018 to your favorite book source from Word Hermit Press: (Cover design: Vinnie Kinsella Book Publishing Services) This is a collection of tales set in the modern American West with characters who somehow dispel the rugged individualist … Continue reading
Okay. Today we’re pointing to https://lifeowryly.wordpress.com/ I’m beginning a series of pieces written for ancient mariners like me. (painting inset: starszz.org)
Thank you for my companions: this journal; this pen; this heart full of my blood; my blood in the hearts of others; my heart in the hearts of others; the quivering guitars; the gift of music holding me fast; this … Continue reading
Here Poemy, here girl, here boy, hweet, hwheet, wheet… c’mon—atta girl, atta boy, c’mon. Bronkbuster’s muse is a dominatrix— demanding, abusive, beautiful, alluring, cruel, and dripping wet—smelling of sea and sagebrush. Mine is on cat’s feet, shifting shapes and sometimes … Continue reading