“but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.”
Bob Dylan, from My Back Pages
Larry Ellis just sent me this link earlier today. See if you can name all the folk icons. Cool stuff.
“but I was so much older then,
They sat quietly and thought about the words that had been said, thought about their pasts, their families, themselves. In the stillness of the room, their thoughts touched and their feelings mingled as the shadows of the blinds moved slowly across the table and the warm sunlight crept across their skin. He felt it. She felt it. There was something, they both knew.
He didn’t know her name. They never exchanged words, though they sat side by side on a three-hour flight. He would never see her again.
He saw her pain. The source of her pain? No, he didn’t know. But he felt it in his own heart.
Trevor Larson wrote this for her.
Hear me, Lord.
Give me gentle rain.
Heal me, Lord.
Take away the pain.
Love me, Lord,
I just need a friend.
Hear me, Lord,
and be there till the end.
That feeling that draws you home.
Wherever home is.
This is what it is. Expressed by Sharon Lyn Stackpole.
Pass it on.
Raining down on you.
Raining down on me.
Raining down so hard, but you can’t see.
I’m looking for you.
Please talk to me.
It’s raining so hard, but you can’t see.
Copyright Trevor Larson, 2015
Another random paragraph from my novel in progress.
He turned to look at Dani.
The glow from the street lights moved across her face, highlighting her features before leaving her obscured in shadow. As if there were two versions of the same person. The woman of light who quickens his heart and brings forth thoughts that he had willed himself to suppress. She of ankle boots and smooth skin and hair of fire. And the one who lives quietly in the dimness, who understands his thoughts and challenges his mind, who without even trying is as alluring and comforting as a soft song in the evening.
A friend.
copyright joseph e bird, 2015
I stared at the screen,
waiting for words.
Nothing.
Ten minutes.
Twenty minutes.
Clickety, clickety, click.
Words.
But they’re the wrong ones.
Highlight, delete.
Stare at the screen.
Nothing.
Forty minutes.
And then the character says,
Talk to me.
I’ll tell you what I feel.
So I listened.
Clickety, clickety, click.
No, he said.
You’re not hearing me.
Highlight, delete.
I listened.
And listened.
And listened.
I heard.
Clickety, clickety, click.
Now, he said.
Tell my story.
This must be what it was like back then.
When windows were always open.
We’ve been without air conditioning for a few days now.
I’m sitting in my room trying to write with the window open.
Every car that goes by grabs my attention.
Across the street, kids are playing.
A train blows its whistle and heads for the tunnel.
The cicadas buzz in their pulsing rhythm.
A cool breeze blows across my feet.
My keyboard is different, but it’s a keyboard.
This must be what it was like back then.
They say
that millions of years ago the earth was flat and covered by the oceans.
Then the tectonic plates moved and collided and crinkled and pushed up mountains.
Rivulets of rain water formed a brook, then a stream, then a river,
taking with it small particles of the mountain,
until now we have
craggy peaks and deep, dark valleys.
They say.
There were no witnesses.
The evidence is circumstantial but compelling.
Exempli gratia: southern West Virginia.
copyright joseph e bird, 2015
Joseph E Bird 