An F train ride becomes a meditation on time — the old man across the aisle, two women smiling across a divide at 18th Avenue, and the question of whether to change the channel or rewrite the ending.
after “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues” by Bob Dylan She was a dark-skinned princess without a kingdom, though she had no shortage of suitors — myself among them. We just stood there smiling, posing, trying not to be taken for urchins in need of salvation. Why she chose me out of all the orphans from… Read more: Just Like Sweet Melinda’s Blues
Rainy days bring memories of sitting in my apartment on East 14th and waiting for the rain to stop. Growing up we didn’t spend too much time indoors. We would spend our time either playing ball, walking around or simply sitting on a stoop talking. When it rained, we were stuck at home. The TV… Read more: Rainy Days
Autumn in my Brooklyn neighborhood felt like a rebirth — stiff corduroy pants, the bus stop at East 4th and Kings Highway, Eve, and the Carvel on East 3rd. I’m sixty now. Why try and change?
Somewhere. Somewhere the bells are ringing, a bride is smiling, as tears escape from her eyes, her parents step aside as her groom walks towards her. Somewhere there’s a wire, several birds perched upon it and they’re gossiping. Somewhere the sun is rising as two lovers lie upon the sand while the light of a… Read more: Somewhere
“We don’t want to exit too soon—we want to take in the sights, hear the birds, and watch the leaves fall or the buds blossom. We try to control our thoughts from too many sentiments about broken dreams, holding on as we walk this one-way street.”
Each person’s life stolen by terrorism is a pointless death.
We know who the perpetrators are.
They stole lives, torn apart worlds and still today there are those who shelter and give legitimacy to your evil.
He traded a law degree for the Monterey tide, building a legacy on his own terms. But retiring means facing the ghost of the father he left behind.
Read “El Capitan” — a story about family, loss, and the sea. #ShortStory #Fiction #WritingCommunity #Mets
Time is filled with stuff. Hopefully the good stuff outweighs the bad.
The good stuff is to be treasured. It’s the friendships that are born one month, then borne towards the end.
The media is biased to the point of irritation and driven to increase the ratings have elevated the amount of hatred and anger to new levels. Everyone from late night talk show hosts, who claim to be the “good guys,” to the pontificating radio talk show hosts who claim that everyone is wrong because they… Read more: Water is Boiling – We have all Failed
Time Pieces (working title) My name is Freddy Zalta. I am 51, well, almost 51 years old. I am writing this as a testimony should anything happen to me or the world as we should have known it. Or as we should not have known it. Officially I work as a watch salesman – selling… Read more: Time Pieces (working title) Chapter 1
An F train ride becomes a meditation on time — the old man across the aisle, two women smiling across a divide at 18th Avenue, and the question of whether to change the channel or rewrite the ending.
after “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues” by Bob Dylan She was a dark-skinned princess without a kingdom, though she had no shortage of suitors — myself among them. We just stood there smiling, posing, trying not to be taken for urchins in need of salvation. Why she chose me out of all the orphans from… Read more: Just Like Sweet Melinda’s Blues
Rainy days bring memories of sitting in my apartment on East 14th and waiting for the rain to stop. Growing up we didn’t spend too much time indoors. We would spend our time either playing ball, walking around or simply sitting on a stoop talking. When it rained, we were stuck at home. The TV… Read more: Rainy Days
A poem about walking through the seasons of a life — and the one thing we keep asking for.
Autumn in my Brooklyn neighborhood felt like a rebirth — stiff corduroy pants, the bus stop at East 4th and Kings Highway, Eve, and the Carvel on East 3rd. I’m sixty now. Why try and change?
Somewhere. Somewhere the bells are ringing, a bride is smiling, as tears escape from her eyes, her parents step aside as her groom walks towards her. Somewhere there’s a wire, several birds perched upon it and they’re gossiping. Somewhere the sun is rising as two lovers lie upon the sand while the light of a… Read more: Somewhere
It’s the waves hitting the rocks on the shore. It’s the old song coming on at the right or wrong time on the radio. It’s a Sign o the Times
“We don’t want to exit too soon—we want to take in the sights, hear the birds, and watch the leaves fall or the buds blossom. We try to control our thoughts from too many sentiments about broken dreams, holding on as we walk this one-way street.”
Each person’s life stolen by terrorism is a pointless death. We know who the perpetrators are. They stole lives, torn apart worlds and still today there are those who shelter and give legitimacy to your evil.
He traded a law degree for the Monterey tide, building a legacy on his own terms. But retiring means facing the ghost of the father he left behind. Read “El Capitan” — a story about family, loss, and the sea. #ShortStory #Fiction #WritingCommunity #Mets
Time is filled with stuff. Hopefully the good stuff outweighs the bad. The good stuff is to be treasured. It’s the friendships that are born one month, then borne towards the end.
ghosts abound
there was a house…
