Posted in Culture, tagged cat wisdom, cats, pets, vignettes on 05 Sep 2019| 1 Comment »
Posted in Writing, tagged caravan, creative writing, immigration, modern poetry, Poetry, short story, vignettes on 13 Aug 2019| 4 Comments »
August, without a doubt, is my least favorite month. It’s when the garden starts to pant and parch, spiders build massive obstacle courses in the yard, fruit goes from unripe green to fuzzy grey within minutes, and wildfire smoke descends to choke our skies, our lungs, our eyes.
And this August, it’s also when a “great” idea for a bit of topical poetry falls totally flat. (more…)
Posted in Writing, tagged creative writing, modern poetry, Poetry, short fiction, vignettes on 26 Mar 2019| 1 Comment »
at the cliff’s edge
the earth falls
through giddy space
to clammy sands
sunlight spears the steel wool clouds
and blazes from gunmetal curls
brined winds press me back
with death-cold hands
hot anger fills me
magma of rage
ready to spew forth
and boil the sea below
as I ponder the choice between
a hateful god
slayer of the young
and no god at all
Posted in Writing, tagged creative writing, memoir, short stories, vignettes on 14 Dec 2018| 1 Comment »
I was three years old—it seems a world away, now—sitting in the front room, looking out the big window.
Our house on Oak Drive was a two-story affair on the uphill side of the street, and from my vantage I could look down on the massive junipers that bordered our small yard. When I played beneath them, they would tower over me, reach for me with scented claws, and dust me with clouds of pollen so that, when Mother called, I would come inside covered in red weals, begrimed with a patina of yellow, and redolent of resin. (more…)
Posted in Writing, tagged creative writing, modern poetry, Poetry, vignettes on 08 Dec 2018| Leave a Comment »
Today
I turned aside
from tragedies and trials
and sought instead
quiet marvels.
Today
I heard the winds of Mars
a thrum felt in the feet
a whistle filled with loneliness,
and heard Tesla coils singing
of sorrow and shame
in a house called
The Rising Sun.
Today
I saw a phoenix
rising in auroral hues
across Arctic skies,
and saw bridges of fire
Strombolian rage
spanning the Sicilian night.
Today
I felt the warmth of the sun
captured in the cat’s fur
as she slept by the window,
and then felt fingers go numb
as I worked outside where that same sun
provided light but no heat.
Today
I tasted watercress,
crisp and green and sharp and cold
fresh from my garden,
and tasted the salty age
of succulent panes
shaved from a joint that spent years
in a Spanish cave.
Today
the world holds more wonders
than we can possibly imagine
but they exist if we choose
to seek them.
k
Posted in Gardening, Writing, tagged creative writing, modern poetry, short fiction, vignettes on 31 May 2018| Leave a Comment »
In the center of my front room is a table. On that table stands a single vase with a single stem on which is a single bloom.
A rose, the first rose of the summer that is yet to come.
From purple to cerise to pink, the outer petals open to reveal their brethren, rank upon rank, unfolding like Mandelbrot origami, endless, hypnotic to the eye.
A single rose, a flower that can fit in the palm of my hand, and yet it fills the room, side to side, top to bottom, three thousand cubic feet, with the scent of honeyed apricots, sweetened cream, dappled sunlight, and the longing of ancient empires.
Posted in Seattle, Writing, tagged creative writing, modern poetry, Poetry, vignettes on 26 Apr 2018| Leave a Comment »
sparrows greet us
escalating commuters
as we rise to the surface
grey-faced warriors
morlocks in the dawn
they sing to us from
guano-stained signs
hopping word to word
to teach us their lyrics
of sunrise and birth
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 