The Bookends Review

the collar i turn up
against the cold
reminds me
draws me back
to a life
before

when
rushing cold against my skin
meant you
drawing near to share
your warmth
your life

cascading
out of control
drew me to
its flame
its fury
its fate

sealed
by visions
and missions
and empty streets
in dark
of night

falling
about us
capturing heart and soul
entwined
in this dance
of despair… ...continue reading

I’m just a servant
Who serves these
Words,
Inky sentiments,
Nearly sentient-

And the mind
Works on her own time,
Sometimes,
She works against mine.

I’m just a maid
Who cleans up after these
Thoughts ablaze
And they swarm
Like bees in a summer haze,
You cannot force them in a cage,
And sometimes they say messy things
So,
Someone must oversee them.… ...continue reading

After a long day of travelling, Claire followed Robert through the hotel lounge to a table by the window. Soft piano music played, mingling with the low hum of conversation from customers seated sparsely throughout the lounge. The circular bar in the center of the room was empty of patrons, and behind it a bartender mixed drinks at a leisurely pace while talking to the lone server. Robert held Claire’s chair for her, then sat down across the table, their chairs angled so that they were not directly facing each other, but rather, looking out into the room.

The server approached the table to take their order. She was a friendly looking young woman, with thick, luxurious eyelashes and long flawless nails.

Claire studied Robert as he conversed amiably with the server.… ...continue reading

With thanks to my friends John Pappan and Mike Berger

Frances pulled up to the steaming patch of road tar and eased the white City truck to a stop. From the driver’s seat she looked at the site and rubbed at her sore knees. She rolled a delicate cone of a cigarette without looking, and despite the rough tobacco it tapered perfectly from tip to tip without pucker or bulge.

Normally she’d be done work by now and already up home, but today she’d signed up for four hours overtime, same as she had yesterday and same as she would tomorrow, too. With the winters coming harder and earlier, the extra hours were a Godsend.

Hard winters hadn’t been a worry when the good firewood was still coming down from Canada.… ...continue reading

My college history teacher said:
white flour fed oppression—
a false staple that starved nations
while filling the conqueror’s plate

Empty offerings persist,
served now on Styrofoam:
flimsy triangles of dough,
sides of ranch dressing,
class sets with covers that read
Of Mice and…,
corners curled, pages thinning—
a curriculum worn down
to a narrow canon

classrooms frigid in winter,
stifling in early summer.… ...continue reading

Lost amidst the sea and swirls
I am floating past gates of white
Misty waters and depths below
Seal my fate / a weeping demise.

Washed ashore / the aflame home
My brethren trudge past mud and sticks
(They’re all knowing and yet none-the-wiser)
I am found beneath sand and drunken tidepools.

Awakened through a crack / beating sunlight
Gathers the souls of my people… my people…
Dark mouths stretched across
Leering into saltwater sacrifices.… ...continue reading

Couldn’t ask for more, a cold drink, a sandwich and a shady place to sit after a long day in the Sun. Easy for complications to take over, and leave you uneasy, but with simple pleasures there is little to go wrong. Nor can those always looking over your shoulder find much for fault, when all that they see is that I enjoy simple pleasures. I have found that most of those sitting around waiting for chances to make threats are just as guilty as they want to think you are.

Looking for somewhere for a picnic lunch that won’t have people screaming, “We don’t want your kind here.” Is getting harder. Now they have put fingerprint readers at entrance to parks. It’s become safer to sit on the edge of toxic waste filled river.… ...continue reading