Would the stories in pictures on the wall touch upon the black secrets of Harroway Hall? I think not. But I’m sure random flies and their narrow view at small parties would probably elicit very hushed yet profound tales of those gathered. I would throw money down that I was correct. But first, fresh country air was calling.
“Hold my jacket, James,” realizing it would be getting warmer. “Hopefully, she is better at following my lead this morning afteryesterday’s disastrous ride.“
“Yes, sir. The wire you made me tape onto the whip should provide you the results you want.
“A three-week trip to India was a real shock to me. This country left a double impression in my soul. On the one hand, this is a magical fairy tale, motley and bright, and on the other, beggarly neighborhoods, areas and entire cities, on the streets of which hundreds of thousands of homeless people live. Looking at the faces of these people, I decided to make a series of portraits in order to shed true light on how the majority of the population of India lives. Most of the people I shot never saw a camera in their life, and what was their surprise when they saw their portrait on the displays. Such sincere delight, I have not met for a long time … Their faces are illuminated by a smile, eyes glowing with happiness, all this and much more should serve as an example for modern society. After all, no matter what, people living in poverty are still able to enjoy the little things … “– tells traveler photographer Roberto Pazzi (Roberto Pazzi).
she lived a hard life weathered and yet beautiful soul etched in her skin
Author note:These are six short poems compiled into two linked threads of three poems each, in free verse.
thin as light
holding her thin as light as she looks the other way
there is nothing to do as the world spins and we lie there in the softness of a rug
until the final shade had sipped the moments of light into a soft-touch fade within the arms of night
in the world beneath the moon where secrets shall never leave the doors we close
we follow the path where the spirits play until we see neither wrong nor right
unable to leave until the morning lines have drawn the world once more in the mist of breaking light
Frank Watson was born in Venice, California and now lives in New York. He enjoys literature, art, landscaping, jazz, and international travel. Publications include The Dollhouse Mirror, Seas to Mulberries, and One Hundred Leaves. In the Dark, Soft Earth was just published in April. His work has appeared in various literary journals and anthologies. Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok: @FrankWatsonPoet