Category Archives: Poetry
Here lives half a person. The other half is visiting relatives at the half-people’s home for retired fragments. If some of them could club together he’d be pretty good company. After all, everyone has a few extra bits sticking out. … Continue reading
The River Derwent She’d heard the old mission had been restored recently, put back into place so to speak, its grubby old age wiped off like a fogged mirror Jake would say, and had come to see for herself. From … Continue reading
Detecting Poetry In my book The Figure of the Detective I made frequent use of the concept of warm and cool knowledge. What did I mean by that? In a recent book by Steven Weinberg, To Explain the World: The … Continue reading
——————————————————————– Recently a question was raised within my hearing as to what intellectual honesty in fiction was. My first response was that it means something else than fidelity to the facts of the real world. It means taking responsibility for … Continue reading
——————————————————————– Poetry is dead. They say. I suppose we know what that means. What poetry is, what dead is. Maybe not. When people say something like poetry is dead they mean not buried in the ground, maybe with one of … Continue reading
once (upon a time) or (if) we fall under time upon the tracks of once
Down in the river the fish are making a list of what to pack for the trip. The authentic fish, the old one in the mist, went that way. The trek over the riverbank’s lift is where the real fish … Continue reading
Cold coffee in the microwave, half a once-frozen bagel. Five a.m. There are shrubs needing to go into the ground to hide their roots from the sun. The finches are awake, breakfasting on thistle seeds. Five a.m. There are holes … Continue reading
From my window waiting train. Watching, which of us is slowest?
Left behind. The others went to find beauty. My scraps of peace become whole.