Not The Rockefellers

Image ( via Magpie Tales ) by Daniel Murtagh to watch her slip into the silken night  longing diaphanous to boldly witness such radiant vulnerability without a claim to keep her pressed under glass, instinctual yet hopelessly dangerous to know this brutal age  old ache is to have lived a life across the threshold Rene ~ 2013

Image: public-domain.com sabre tooth dagger bright killer silently waits prey on the threshold Rene ~ January 3, 2013 Careful out there, man

November Lace, 2009, Rene Foran It was nearly 90 degrees in that cozy little kitchen the smell of home cooking had attached itself to every molecule of every acrylic holiday sweater her every effort to help prepare the feast was waved off and redirected to the family room where a stony, silent, football viewing Mt Rushmore occupied the couch, a loveseat, and three folding chairs she wandered down  to the basement where she was years removed from the circle and miles behind the conversation so she drifted along searching where was her world? where was her piece? where did she belong? she slipped away  from the fray unnoticed up to her childhood room through the bedroom window and onto the rooftop poetic: " she sat arms hugging knees surveying life,  the leafless trees spindly branches claw the sky scratching for sun, to heaven they cry p...

waiting aching sensibility shaken hope is gelatinous time a river of sand i want to punch through dimensions like rice paper and cover us growing inside of me - you this time victorious quietly miraculous I wait with joy full of grace a warrior of the good fight to name a love to kiss a life “The strongest of all warriors are these two — Time and Patience.” ― Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace Rene ~ November 12, 2013 for Magpie Tales

This blog. It's been a godsend to me in so many ways. A place to write. A place to organize my thoughts. A place to let my freak flag fly. A place to make friends, from places that I have to put on my glasses to find on a map. A place to grow. A place to communicate. The world is a smaller, more accessible place thanks to blogging. Every day I mix with: Forward thinkers, mass transit raconteurs, flash fictionistas, guerrilla poets, buzzword hurlers, one-line wonders, one ups-manshippers, Über Moms and Super Dads. I don't remember a time when I've been surrounded by so many talented, funny people... or so much unbelievable heartbreak. I am quiet by nature. I get a few words and one-liners in, but I often feel like an observer in real life group conversation. It's usually because I feel I don't have anything interesting to add. Or: My jokes and references are too arcane, I am so out of the loop on post modernism and I can't even fake the ...

i don't like eggs but you knew this already i know you're thinking such a terrible waste but it's not, you see i'm feeding them to the dog she loves them just as much as i know she loved you and the way you walked her as if every single thing she sniffed mattered to you as well sorry, dear pardon my red wine opera crowd violin string tugging (your words) i ramble at breakfast like a fussy percolator but you knew this already morning is when i am most honest and vulnerable i know that's why you left after dinner oh god dammit you i miss you so much what i did before us is a mystery and what i do now is insanity i'm frying up eggs just to smell them again and to perhaps coax you down, from wherever you are for breakfast did you know i believe that there is still a ghost of a chance Rene Foran ~  April 2011 photo by Tess Kincaid for Magpie Tales click for more info