Archive for the writing Category

Deepfake Tribulation

Posted in Flash Fiction, writing with tags , , , , , , on February 1, 2019 by dustus

Whiskey-shooting away professional tormenting failure, The Plaintiff, slipped fumbling sideways off a sky-high cliff.  Your Honor, his fractured ego denied having been pushed!  As if privacy exists in our defamatory deepfake world.  Consequently, it took many arduous years of gradual rehabilitation before self-loathing dried and creative fire reemerged furiously brighter than The Defendants’ life-threatening malice.   

 *Fiction in 55 words = #flash55

Vigilance

Posted in Poetry, Short Poems, writing with tags , , , , , on January 28, 2019 by dustus

candlelight
Once mourning welcomes darkness
Before grief burns to its end
Each day as bright as candlelight
When your heart won’t seem to 
mend

Yet amid such deep set loneliness
These times leave healing change
And remains of loving vigilance
Seeing through life’s pain

 

Dawn

Posted in Blog, Poetry, Short Poems, writing with tags , , , , , , , on January 26, 2019 by dustus

thetorch

I see her smile in my dreams
Making up lost time
She whispers that she’ll never leave
‘Til dawn wakes up my mind

I wonder where this vision goes
And rather close both eyes
For another glimpse of heaven
Which seems fleeting like our lives

 

The Fall of Snow

Posted in Poetry, Short Poems, Uncategorized, writing with tags , , , , on January 24, 2019 by dustus

snowfall_snowflakes_winter_snowing

Even when I questioned my decision
That voice inside my head pled don’t let go
And while what is done allows for no revision
God I miss Lansing and the fall of snow

Night Walk on the Beach

Posted in writing with tags , , on January 15, 2019 by dustus

Skipped a flat stone over the ocean-glazed tidal withdrawal spot.  It’s raw, chilly, so misty tonight. Put my hoodie over head to cover the back of my damp neck. I stop shivering. There’s a faint seaward scent of saltwater and fish harboring the breezy seascape air. Moist deserted sand sticks to my sneaker sides as if they were breaded…. Nobody else appears here.

The ink-bleeding Gothic sky seeps through a milky wash of fog like an apparition suspended above the healing waves crash. There initial roar, successive splashing, all chiming into a murmurous drone reverberating the cascade of whitecap crests collapsing into the sprawl of sea foam bubbles…. And I keep thinking I feel at home now, yet believe it matters less where one’s soul finds rest…. So long as it inevitably does.