W.W. Cubism and photograph by: Erickson Smoke Whispered Through the tongue. Logical v i b r a t i o n s whittle The bones, sharpening them To the c ur ve d sticks of harps and bows. Suggestions bubble violent. Among the music, Language is condensed, like milk In rotten, dripping a rust can.--------Sh—ou-----t------s.---... Continue Reading →
Home is… (a Different Hue) – Poem
Home is...(a Different Hue) and photograph by: Erickson The sun slips her colors.Orange-pink uplifts gray clouds And green-yellow encourages frothy waves. These are the same days our ancestors found ground,Home is home is home.The city presses us close, to ponder. Dark towers dissolve into skies — blue and black, Like Stephen King, us, with pens... Continue Reading →
Home is… (slipping colors) – Poem
Home is... (slipping colors) and photography by: Erickson The sun slips her colors.Orange-pink uplifts gray clouds And green-yellow encourages frothy waves. Home is home is home. Each sunset and sunrise,The waxing and waning,The height of the swing, versus the momentum of a fall,Is a human fingerprint. The city allows us to ponder. Dark towers ending... Continue Reading →
imprint – Poem
"imprint" and photography by: EricksonLips crisp to a close.The hum of the bus – clunk, clunk – forms a ritual.Moving is slow, deliberate,In dark-blue air.Bodies are within reach – White fingerprints on chrome-plated steel meet me.Yet distance,Almost homesickness,Is enemy.The ember glow – dim and forgotten,Reaches from the rear passenger cabin.We stand, among others absorbed in... Continue Reading →
Masculine Soul
"Masculine Soul" poem and photograph by: Erickson-Free my masculine soul from the cage of my father.Rattle my chains and inject graciousness and goodness into my veins.Pluck me, like a hen, to remove each feather that is my sin.Free my masculine soul from the cage of my father.-
Bittersweet, You and Me Deceive
"Bittersweet, You and Me Deceive" By: Erickson A hunchbacked man at a dimly lit desk Writes symbolism only he will see. An entire life, unable to connect The plenty of things that bridge you and me. Eventually false fortitude will fall, And the blurred man will beg for his day job. For now, he dreams... Continue Reading →
