I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all,” -Richard Wright
In a musty old cave lie’s a treasure chest and inside are scattered amongst the various pages of an odd notebook or two contain collections of poetry and prose without a home, with no prospects in sight. These words are to the point and do not own any lavish pretenses of grandeur. They simply speak their truth as directly as possible, such as the truth a child will convey out of sheer innocence. I fear that these short verses will fill volumes if I allow them as much and bring me to task for my truth. But I will do away with my unwanted disposition of fear and let this long and winding road of words take me to where they might lead, to the river of my memory, with its rich loom on the alluvial plain of my mind.
*copyright jc 2020- 11 by 9 image9
There is something about the grace and serenity of water; it seems lazy and peaceful in one moment and then in the next, it shows great strength and power. Water is perseverance, patient, and adaptable; just think of the Colorado River creating the Grand Canyon. And most important of all, water is fluid… ever changing as the universe. Look up ‘fluid’ in any thesaurus and this is 
Many summers ago I was sitting on the levee watching the Mississippi, that venerable old man of rivers, as sacred as the Ganges and the Nile, proud and steady with a thousand tales screaming silently to be told. Though I had seen the river hundreds of times, it was during this one particular visit that I perceived it on its own terms. I felt as though I was seeing something observed before but only now fully realized in its own complexion and varied temperament for the first time. 
An Unexpected Muse… 