Rest between the rains

Light rain on Canada Pond, RI USA

Photo: author


Sometimes, after midnight and before dawn

The horizon blanks and I can see everything


Sometimes, in the rest between the rains

The world pauses and I can hear everything


Sometimes, on a pillow of skin and coarse hair

A heartbeat beckons and I can feel everything


Sometimes, as winter wood burns wet

Smoke sears, acrid, and I can smell everything


Never have I tasted enough, and I never will.


©2013 Jason Anderson


Some men

Narcissus | Gyula Benczur | 1881

Narcissus | Gyula Benczur | 1881


Some men

are always

falling in love

give you a moment

of their hour

and swear

Narcissus blind

whose watery caress

happens on Ophelia

Cupid destitute

who with childlike resilience

hunts, dining on

squirrely lust

crazy in love



finding the gods wanting


©2013 Jason Anderson
Source image: Wikimedia Commons

Symptoms of an underlying condition

I’ll do my homework before you get home

Clean my room, and the house

And vacuum under the beds

I’ll write all my thank you notes

Take out the trash and shut the lids

Do the laundry, all three loads

And hang your delicates

With reluctant fingertips

I’ll iron, fold, put away

Then mow the lawn, avoiding the cord

I won’t go past the end of the block

Or have over unapproved friends

I’ll throw dinner on in time

Tonight it’s for one

You’ll find me in my closet

Between my blue striped shirt

And dress-up pants

Not wearing my good shoes

Read my thank you note without fear

I didn’t write anything

You don’t want to see


Suicide is a permanent “solution” to problems and feelings that are temporary. If you’re in distress, PLEASE contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255).

©2013 Jason Anderson

Writing myself anew

Chair in snow 2007

I write myself a new story

Along the original lines

Some words and phrases

Showing through


Old ideas I scratch out

Madly or editorially

Leaving a brief thought

If it reminds me


Alone in this room

Kids laughing and yelling

Beneath my window

In the snow


Thaw my resolve

I must keep writing

White snow and voices

Clear as bells.


Image: author (2007)
©2013 Jason Anderson

A murder of crows


Yesterday afternoon an unusual event, around here that is, as I cleaned house. A scattered bleating of crows turned quickly to a sustained chorus. Both cats lept to attention, riveted, ears cocked: general quarters. Their watch drew me to the window, and the sight of dozens of crows gathering on nearby trees. The cacophony was remarkable, and when I slid open the window, deafening. Frigid air and bacchanale washed inward against me.

For a time more and more joined the party, til the winter branches flourished with a black spring, and the mad-inspiring refrain grew louder still, becoming like an iron wedge driven into the brain. When the very last had alighted, everyone fell silent – a leaden silence, the sound of loss.

I went back to chores after a few moments and when I returned to the window later, the branches were bare. The murder had gone off without so much as a whisper.

The cats had returned to their bunks, hoping either for undisturbed rest or another interruption.

How to Cook Dragon Meat

Innocence, c 1904, watercolour by Thomas Cooper Gotch

Why am I at King’s Cross today

They tell me that

I’ve lost my way

A million reasons

I have to stay

But I’m off to slay a dragon


Why do I thread this haunting wood

I’ve left behind

All that’s good

Nothing may end

As it should

But I must slay the dragon


Why do I brave this ferocious sea

Are wind and waves

The last I’ll see

The horizon’s blade

The end of me?

Not til I slay the dragon


After all, will I waste here

Amid sacks of teeth

And vials of tears

They taught me of don’ts

And of fears

But not how to cook dragon meat.


Source Image: Innocence, watercolour 1904 by Thomas Cooper Gotch [public domain via Wikimedia Commons]
©2013 Jason Anderson