Tag Archives: Fear

Sparrow: In Fear and Flight – A Faux Ending

The Hawk packed his bags, pacing, eager to fly, ready to go –

“Oh my my, you’ve grown so very tall”

Dream scenes mixing with reality,

And longing for a beautiful farewell,

The Hawk stopped at the Owls nest to see if he had gotten any further with his

contemplation of death and the depth of the human soul,

But he hadn’t,

And the Hawk knew this would be the answer before knocking on the Owls door,

Who was calmly sitting in his double chair,

Ashtray on knee,

Blowing smoke out of his nose,

Deep in thought and brooding with melancholy,

Full of fatherly advice and o’so full of excitement and pain.

The visit was short.

And so the Hawk went to see the Bard of Bird Pond,

For the Crane would be a sight for sore eyes,

For a final time.

The same Crane who had led him to the decision to leave,

On a journey toward understanding and inner reflection

“It doesn’t matter; we are all going to die and it just doesn’t matter anymore”

The Crane said through sad eyes,

A long time ago,

And again for a final time.

The same Crane who now went from place to place brooding with melancholy and the confusion of knowing too much.

But it did matter, and it will always matter, and the Hawk understood that,

And was no longer hung-up on life’s wall mounts of thinking it didn’t matter.

The Hawk stopped at the Peacocks house,

Thought a moment,

And left,

Not knowing what he might have been expecting.


And the sun set,

And the Hawk sat on the curb,

Cigarette in hand,

Smoke in nose,

Knowing too much,

Contemplating what really mattered,

Wondering if his journey had made him a better man,

A lump sum of all he knew,

Or thought he knew,

And all the people he had met and would meet.

And the Sparrow saw,

And the Sparrow had no more to say.



Filed under sangretti

Tanka: Twenty: Red Matthews

Do not fear what will.

Embrace what change can create.

Look forward each day.

As a bird of a feather,

may we find flight together.



New author.

Look forward to the addition of the –

Oracle of Bird Pond.

A mystic among men.

Red Matthews.


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Filed under R. Matthews, sangretti

At the Corner of Liberty

Mom says it’s da ghetto.
Mom says her child is better than that white trash. But how so?
Mom says niggers walk down the street at all hours.
That’s where the words cease to flow.
The words are cut off briskly by my attitude; the mind that has never tolerated racism; the character that told my father at age six that anyone could have taken a shit by our pond, not specifically a person of color.
“Please, Daddy. Get real. It could have been a person as white as snow!”
But this attitude never infiltrated my elders’ minds.
Mom still says she won’t be at my wedding if I decide to marry Jacquizz.
The constant criticism of color will never be allowed to affect my ears, let alone my brain.
There are no voices inside that tell me to focus on fear.
Only my mother’s.
But mothers know best, right?
There was no crack house busted next door.
There was no car stolen in the church parking lot.
And no one was mugged at the deli, Mom.
Just plain bullshit.
To feed these thoughts, she conceived that she was so cleverly placing in intricate corners of my mind.
I shall live my life just fine, thank you.
After all, at twenty-two, it is called Liberty.


Filed under Willow Hutton

Not Here

I hung up on Ulysses. 
Didn't except the collect call on the adventures 
   I could have had. 
I could still hear him cackling through the line. 
Burned that wire to the ground. 
Told him not to come here. 
not here.
That'd be a little to much for me. 
I just wanna stay here were my reality is real. 
Live my life on these six strings and bread. 
Kept under fed and always wanting. 
Waiting for nothing And expecting less. 
More is something Idon't need here. 
Not here.

Keep it simple. 
Keep it plain so no one knows my name. 
People I've left behind don't know. 
Kept them in the dark so I can stay far way 
    from the bleak that I remember. 
Fame would bring it back. 
But there is none here. 
Not here.

Fame is nothing but to blame for the problems 
    of the dreamers and the depressed. 
I'll just sit here. 
Mouthing words. 
strumming on broken strings. 
Singing to the world in silence because it can't get me. 
Not here. 
Not here.

Written By

September 2nd

(Excerpt from The Orpheus Alternative)


Filed under Mr. Stacker