The fog was cloud-thick as the man and his dog ventured out into oblivion. You couldn’t see the cars, but the hiss as they passed by found them in the field. Honking shadows glided down from the sky, their scattered calls organizing a shrouded gathering.Continue reading “Morning Fog in the Soccer Field, 2022”
I’m beginning a project called Picture Poems. Simply put, it’s a way to collect, gather, and present small groups of images.
Picture Poems is inspired by an assignment I struggled with when I was in college. The assignment was to make a single image that acted as a poem.* I’m pretty sure I failed miserably, but then again, I never was a good student. Since then, I’ve constantly been striving to discover the poetic elements and potential of images. Is it possible to make an image that feels wet, not merely by showing something that is wet? How about softness or delicacy? Is it an image of a light touch on the arm? Or is it an image of something the viewer knows the sensation of? Can images convey the same meanings if they don’t show anything easily identifiable?Continue reading “Introducing Picture Poems: #1 Young Meadow”
Yesterday I met up with a friend in New Brunswick (NJ). We were hoping to get a bit of writing done. I took a train North, while she took a train South, we met in the middle roughly equidistant from where we each live. Neither one of us are terribly familiar with the area, though I spent a brief amount of time during my college years living with an ex-girlfriend of mine. I arrived first and walked to a park, the train station in sight. I, like many writers, often–almost exclusively–write in solitude, in my kitchen, a usually controlled environment where my dog seems to always understand what’s going on. I had no idea what to expect, how I would perform writing outside of my kitchen.Continue reading “Two Short Beginnings – Writing in New Brunswick with Images as Prompts”