8/5/17 7:18pm Little I find you splintered in the evenings Your jars of swirling soul stacked on the shelves Disheveled and collected like coins or china dolls. In the steam of redeeming creatures, You’re the feature, Most accentuated by mirrored glass, And priceless heirlooms. Your…

we went to the sugar mill with cameras instead of raincoats to take pictures of the evening storm a rare occurrence in Colorado harvest season; trusting that the tomato and tomatillo plants she had untangled earlier in the day could fend for themselves while we played…

Frogs don’t chirp this Strangely silent evening. Not a peep from my tomatoes Struggling to please me More than last year’s jars Of deep red succulence. Less steam today. The desert deluge passed into Texas And we didn’t see a drop Peculating for dry clay….

As evening turns to night, the fireflies come out to play, as do children, their mason jars in hand.   But in my distopian world, firefly-hunting kids are a mystery, because it’s the children that glow in Steampunkland. (Prompt: Choose 5 words.)

The fusion of action must be realized in the historical knowledge. This incomplete mythical world regulates the irreversible power of time. Only the negation of culture can preserve its level of culture. The spectacle subjects man to his true reflection… The spectacle demands passive acceptance……

There was mystery in her raincoat The one meant for evening The shade of tomatoes in full summer sun Yet in darkness it took on a different hue One of steam and passion As if fire was escaping every seam Thank god it was raining

  Frogs. Raincoat, steam percolating. Evening tomatoes, jars. Children elbow: mystery.  

14 2017 Golden Shovel form from Tracy Plath’s poem Morpheus hour 5 2017 marathon. Morpheus extended. By Paul Robert Sanford I stripped away my outer layers until I lay naked in the sun, a yearning Ophelia, unable to complete my wish for oblivion deeper than…

The traffic begins to croak like frogs In the  rush-hour chorus of the evening Stop Start Red Green Lights changing unco-operatively like ripening tomatoes Beginning at green Giving the perfect excuse for letting off steam From under hot stuffy raincoats Hot under the white collar Wrapped…

Stormy Night The steam rises from my tea The candles on the table flickering with my breath The evening darker than normal The storm shutting out any lingering sun The raincoat dripping water steadily The little storm I let follow me inside The mystery of…