Car Hood

This is a little piece of flash fiction.  The events are true….from long ago.  Car hood



Rhonda Poem 4: Midsummer

In the afternoon, there is a dazzle

A shimmer in which I walk in trust, blind

To the edge of the stream-cut slash,

Where the tall trees block the sun again,

And the brook lies in sudden clarity.


Because it has but recently emerged from light,

It is pristine, it carries nothing, lightly

Run its waves, like children.


It moves gently amid the wreck of spring–

Stranded logs, bits of this ‘n’ that from far upstream,

All abandoned to the winds along the banks,

Roots of willow and poplar and spruce,

Trees deep undermined, in a slow topple

Frozen over the water in the heat of summer.


Dragonflies in impossible blues and greens

Dart from bank to bank, skimming the waves

On nearly invisible wings.


Above, the applause of aspen leaves

In the unfelt breeze.  A single leaf

Falls, spinning, spinning, then caught

And borne off on the breast of the water.


For no reason, I raise my arms;

The air is cool as lips.


The sunlight flits golden on the waves,

And the water itself seems to float;

It runs through my fingers like hair.


The air is cool as lips;

The water, light as hair.


Beneath the trees, the heavy scent of humus,

Soft and rich, alive, dappled with sunlight

And violets and the small flowers of wild strawberries.


She  and I once lay here together,

And when she stood, I held her hands

When she would brush herself.

She smiled, stained with green and brown,

A sheen of sweat between her breasts,

Her hair hung with leaves and petals,

Transfigured by the sun.


We stood in the stream,

And washed away each other,

And this place.


But the air is still cool as lips,

The water light as hair,

And the earth soft as memory.

I dreamed of legionnaires

Okay, after the last posting, I figured I should get down and dirty about my life…just kidding…when was I other.  Anyway, lurking in the background are more Tintern Island poems, stuff about gypsies, self-indulgent love-laments,  and more based on Norse religion.  And my own poem-take on Conan’s god Crom…I toyed with the idea of creating a religion based on Crom at one point,  but, since he wouldn’t give a rat’s nether regions for it, why bother?  Or why not?  Anyway, this one is based on an adventure in clothing from last summer.  Besides the Norse, the imperial Romans also have interested me…I was totally hooked on I, Claudius.   And, thinking about the Romans I Dreamed of Legionnaires

The Grey of Tintern

Many years ago, I began writing poem-stories about a place I named Tintern Island.  Every so often, it appears again.  Here is a recent one.  At Tintern Island the sky is grey

Too Bright to See

At sunrise, the light is very special.  Magic time for photographers and other artists.   You need light in order to see, but, sometimes…The sun is too bright to see


Just walking in the rain, across a sodden park, near my home, in the early hours today, and I look behind me.  Spoor

Published in: on December 30, 2012 at 4:34 am  Leave a Comment  
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Mt. Tolmie: the Rut

Been looking again at flash fiction.   I am particularly interested in postcard stories.  I like the challenge of getting a story/vision/dream/whatever down in about 250 words, about what would fit on a postcard.  I will file a few in posts to come.  I am setting myself a challenge of  100 days of postcards.  Nothing like aiming high!

Anyway.  I wrote a postcard story earlier today, but, this afternoon penned the following, largely while sitting in Starbucks.  Mt. Tolmie Park is only a few minutes from where I live, and I did, indeed, see a fine buck this morning, while walking the family beagle.

Mt tolmie