Scribbles 'n Bits

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  • Gravitate

    The first came from answer,
a place you'd least expect. 
The last place on earth
rest between your lips. 
A final question answered.
Where every person lay.
A journey finally ventured,
dead silence caught, 
magnificent 
and utterly afraid.

So rudely interrupted.
Destined, 
from the middle  
to the end of a line. 
The story not faded, 
but truly refined - 
a switchback no one knows. 
The last mark of ink.
An ‘x’ between your feet. 
Dig deeper still
until you sink beneath.

  • The Beat

    So rumble on. 
Dignified specks 
across the cuffs.
A stumbled run.
Lives closer, 
standing back, 
than coming from.  
A room of champagne glasses 
painted darkly - 
beating a rogue drum. 
A gallery free 
of ivory canvas.
Deaf fallen hum.

  • Solstice

    Over the shoulder
into dawn - 
a bruised and battered sky. 
Past the fallen
violet honey
or so goes the cry. 

Through cedar boughs;
over ice - 
a freshly minted leave.
A turned corner,
the smokehouse finds reprieve. 

A cliche for all ages,
"what's done is done,"
and again
never comes.
A brow's glistening white beads.

  • Echo Chamber

    Low roads pierce heavy clouds,
    down the barrel - face - 
    selling thoughts a penny. 
    Parlor tricks without gloat
    heads nod - embrace -
    betting men a plenty. 

    Facing facts wrinkles skin;
    firmly falls grace,
    failing sharper than any. 
    Meaning life falls in love,
    pays slim straights - 
    the house tax a century.

  • A Wandering: The Nuance of Idle Thought

    From a person imprisoned or sheltered within their mind arise pathologies not explored by those who take benevolent residence instead.

  • Memorandum of Overture

    My advice, 
fallen deaf 
on the ears made by 
adjoining symphony -
or cacophony - indifference. 
Splice.
Sew broken 
chord through and thorough.
Fodder for the cannon; 
bows at the ready. 
My advice?
Hold your head high,
an octave above the rest.
And fade.

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  • Literary Labyrinth: The Six Word Story

    It may be legend, or perhaps fact, Ernest Hemingway is said to have been challenged to write a story in six words. Now, a popular practice in academia and in casual on a so-titled subreddit.

    The end of the year is festive, whether you actively participate or, like me, soak in the air of optimism and exuberance – either way, good for reflection. I challenge my readers, if you’d like, to write your own six words about your year. Here’s something thoughtful about mine: 

    In media res, late or lucky?

    All the best,

    Josh

  • The Stylist’s Curse

    Foreword: Though the elements of horror fiction commonly make their way into my writing, it is oddly one of my least common reading choices. The bulk of which, when I do partake, is centered on a psychological component. In appreciation, few other subjects offer a laboratory as free for exploration. I felt, in holiday spirit, what’s the harm? Hope you enjoy.

    Pages: 1 2

  • S.D.B.Q!

    Fixing
instruments of death. 
A wrench
turning man. 
the author of apocalypse - 
swift rivers’ final breath. 
A demon, 
fears 
of every depth. 
Purged 
of amnesty.
Hedge rows 
trimmed to hypocrisy. 
A lesson, some say, 
learned -
apple rotting on the desk. 
A monster
lamenting only failure.