Life’s continuum of regrets,I cling to such as thee,Seems I can never forego, forget,Nor have fates forgiven me. I tend to forget, to forget to lay,A carapace over the bee,To prevent the sting upon my soul,And deny its eidetic glee. Bury my sin in deepened pits,Under an evening elegy,Caste it from this mind of mine,IntoContinue reading “Mystic”
Author Archives: rwhetsell04yahoocom
London Fire Watcher
I walk the cobblestones of Queen VictoriaStreet, rubbing the black soot from mybloodshot eyes while whisking awaysnow-like flakes from my flat cap.A stench claims the road beside meunder a souring color of gaslightthat flames a golden fire, not yet pinchedby the lamplighter’s snuffer. The bomb’srubble crunches under my shoes,as my ankles stir thick grey fogworkingContinue reading “London Fire Watcher”
Hope Fragile
I lay in a bed of deep blue sky,The cool light of hopefloats in clouds – distant,like a painting on the wall of my life.I yearn to touch eachbrush stroke but dare notfor fear the hope withinwill disappear.
Quiet Ending
The melodic, nighttime chimes of myheart announce the arrival of the quiet.The quiet has its own sound – a whisperof silence, like the final, dying rippleof what once was a mighty ocean comber,sucked into the cream colors of a sandy beach.Who was this wave? How fardid its white tips travel? How raucousits fathoms of saltwater?Continue reading “Quiet Ending”
Roads Not Taken
I thought about joining the Navy instead ofgetting married. I might have been a pilot,or a battleship commander – and diedat the bottom of the sea. I could haveplayed on the college baseball team,become an All-American or been that guy – the final cut. I considered retiring in the Sonoran Desert,joining the fat Saguaro cactusContinue reading “Roads Not Taken”
The Church at the End of the Road
The red doors of 1886 open their armsto breathe a wind of welcomefrom angelic spirits suspended.The stained glass on high, sparkles ina scintillation of sunlight,as the sacred hands of the Savior wave us in. The sweet smell of Easter’s candle wax,tears beneath a flaming helicoid of smoke, swirling upward to skewer a bottleof the King’sContinue reading “The Church at the End of the Road”
The Bus Ride to Indifference
I sit on the sunny side, no shadeto hide the increasing glarein my eyes. I turn away from therising fireball and see a prettylady next to me, dark as night. Shesits quietly, hands folded, rubbingher arthritic fingers.I can sympathize. She’s from Jamaica, Queens; aborough in New York City.We both mumble somethingunintelligible as we pass aContinue reading “The Bus Ride to Indifference”
The Artist of Time
Felt tipped pens hiss,pencils crackle, spraying blackash in circles like the darknessof expired hours. A palette of paints, oils ofblue, yellow, and brown;a thin brush drops slowly downthe canvas like hourglass sand. A thoughtful lean, a cat-likesmile, a feline stretchof tired satisfaction; the passingpurr of a breeze gone by. Remnants of work, now idle;pens, pencils,Continue reading “The Artist of Time”
I Am
the lone voice to listen for, midstmoonlit misery,while you weep for lack of sleepas the demon thief slipsaway with your rest. I Am the creator of lightthat you may never be lostin the foul fog of your life, tossedby injustice, unfairnessand uncertainty. I Am alive in your faith, evenwhen you make bad choices;my forgiveness reignsContinue reading “I Am”
You’re writing your autobiography. What’s your opening sentence? The whoosh of the ocean’s waves lap the beach like a black lab. I can’t help but stop, and look, and listen. Creepy how the wet sand grips my feet. How did a little boy from small town Oklahoma get here on the edge of the mightyContinue reading
