shengami

Out of the Sun The couple looked up from the small private world of each other's arms.  A man was walking over the narrow wooden bridge into the island park; the rising sun was at his back.  He stopped for a moment as if to get his bearings.  His vision was here, but whatever he saw was far away.  The man slowly approached the shore.  From his pocket, he pulled the neatly folded white square of a letter that was well worn and fragile as if the weight of the words carried by it were too great for a simple scrap of paper to bear properly.  He spent several long seconds gazing into the letter; he sighed heavily.  The woman raised her hand to h

      When the speedometer reads fifty-eight, I reactivate the cruise control, letting it finish the acceleration to sixty-one.  My compass reads north.  I look up just in time for the sign to catch my eye: Waldorf three miles, Pemberton nine miles, St. Clair sixteen miles, Mankato twenty-five miles.  I returned my vision to the road; the sections near Waldorf were not the best kept and the winter driving conditions were not bad.      I let my mind wander a bit on this stretch, thinking about the days planned activities: D&D with my good friends.  I thi

Perspectives      Walt was rather happy; he was having a good week.  His mother-in-law had cancelled a planned vacation, his boss was on vacation, his children and wife were being uncharacteristically cooperative with his plans for a summer trip, and the expense account he had been working on all week had miraculously sorted itself out right before the end of the day Friday.     He had been so happy he had gotten up early Saturday morning so that he could cook a hearty old-fashioned breakfast, like the ones his mother used to cook for him and his siblings when they were young.  And, wonder of wonders, his family had sa

?thing I was a boy, Content to know something, Learn anything. I grew older, I knew everything, I knew nothing. An adult, Desperate to know anything, Always knew something. Upon my death, I knew nothing, And everything.

                    An Ode to Strolls              A midnight sky looks down,            Stars Twinkling-Moon shining,       An ocean of corn sways side to side,        In time to a whistling night breeze, a night-bird's song, and the crickets' serenade,            a dance to the world's hymn.         

A Funny Thing It's a funny thing-a child's smile. How it brightens up a scene. It's a wondrous thing-a child's laugh. No angel could compete. That every child could laugh and smile, Until their days are done. I'd give the hours of my days, I'd never end their fun.

I Might What weary wanderers the world makes, of they who walk alone. Who cold begrudge them, if they found a good place, to lay down there, with a sigh, and rest -But- What if the sigh is long, and heavy with unfulfilled hopes, unlived dreams, and ten thousand forgotten days. What if their sigh is loneliness and sadness itself. Who could fault them, for laying down in that soft warm place, and not rise again. I might, I say.  I might protest. Not out of love, or compassion, or noble intent. Not out of hate, or jealousy, or malice would I save them. From out of fear do I protest their gentle passing. Fear that I may be next, t

Always A single drop of iridescent water,     rolls smoothly along-          A Rose-blushing deeply red in the rain. A raucously peeling distant thunder,     Shouting mightily unto-          heaven-The joy of being alive. Clean green smells of grass,     misting up from-          Earth-dark and moist with springtime. Fresh nipping spring breezes,     Whistling playfully through-          Oaks-ancient, mighty, and majestic. Fat drops of falling rain,     pattering upon my-          Head-as Earth-purified by the storm. I look upon the Earth-tear in eye, Lost in rain,                   I love her still.     Always.

A Thing in Me A distant lonely isle, set within a dark realm. A candle born, wax black as night-            To light, to burn-to consume. I fear being alone, am unable to see. I shiver in a wind, chilled by the sorrow-             In night's velvety gloom. I set flame to that which is me- Light and Warmth are cast, by even the blackest candle.              I fear the darkness.

Green Jell-O and Memories He sat in his customary corner of the faculty lounge under the light bulb he had carefully unscrewed upon entering.  The custodial staff used to complain about his behavior, but nothing they said stopped him.  Eventually they had given up on the matter and allowed him his darkness.  He had arrived precisely four minutes late, as always, prepared the same meal he always ate, unscrewed the light bulb, and sat in the same seat at the same table he had used for as long as anyone could remember without uttering a single sound.  As he sat at the table his eyes went vacant.  Staring at and beyond the clock that hung above