Dementia by Stephanie Bryant Anderson


This is wonderfully short novel, only better: it’s a poem.

Originally posted on The Blue Hour:

By the bed in a cup the waiting water grows tepid, the medicine sleeping
in me like a watchdog. The air inside the room, cold & artificial.

Unable to warm, I feast on stars, picking from the constellations
my sister brought down to my side, calling in her loudest voice

for my head to settle. Getting ready for bed, I avoid turning off the bathroom light;
I do not want to recall, in the blue dreams, the night she lifted her
nightgown, posing nude
as a Miss America contestant.

We turn gray like the walls, gray like our hair, unconscious anymore
to emotions. I cannot remain living brightly and happy as she dies.

The foggy moon, and God’s last round of sheep, are full like ticks.
The days will soon grow larger & larger in aloneness


Stephanie Bryant Anderson lives and writes in Clarksville, TN. She edits Red Paint Hill…

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Haiku–Fourth Floor

Seventy-two steps:
easy in the morning light,
steeper in the night.

mexican stairs

mexican stairs2

(top:; bottom:

Posted in Beach, Haiku, Night, Poem, Travel | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

The Eye

The ocean riles up with the wind,
angry and insistent,
throwing wave upon wave against
walls and stairs,
stealing sand to hurl high and heavy
atop everything we built and all that we did not.
Roofs and thatch scatter, chaff
with the feathers of helpless birds.
Sudden stillness:
orange light and shuddering calm.
Trees sigh and mourn their roots.
The booming sea measures the quiet until
the roar of a hundred thousand freight trains
drowns the silence and
the wind rips the other way,
implacable and vehement.
We grasp and pray.

odile surf

odile solmar

(top:; bottom:

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Haiku–Rum and She

Rum is a sweet sip.
My companion is sweetness.
I am so lucky.




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Haiku–Plumby Dummy

Plumbing is my bane:
water seeks its own level,
just out of my reach.


fridge hose

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Shadow Crown

My shadow has a corona and baffles me
with its otherworldly glow crowning the absence of light.
How can this be?
The world has rules.
Obviously, I do not know them all.
The light wavers around the silhouette of my head,
startling the hummingbird tracking
orange blooms that gird my bed of succulents.
The phenomenon runs its course.
I do not feel any different.
A red berry grows and drops into my heart.
The answer is in the sum of its seeds.
I do not know how to decipher it.



(blue-throated hummingbird:; garden:

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Haiku–Writing Wherever

(Note: you should check out Daniel von der Embse’s blog at jrs)

To write or to nap;
my home away from my home:
writing in airplanes.

Writing this journal
wherever I’m traveling:
working the home front.

jet barrier

journal open

(top:; bottom:


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Understanding wet
doesn’t make me feel drier;
embracing what is.

halloween stormy

halloween rain

(top:; bottom:

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That Sparkling Crecendo

Nod and smile:
no commitment,
metaphorical hands in cerebral pockets,
a performance artfully rendered
in a vacuum of open connections
and blithe attentiveness.
Nothing is there
disguised as a vague

thought—the actor acts—
sometimes convincing himself.
How different when passion uncoils
to wrap limb and trunk, squeezing
an idea, a sparkling crescendo
of synapses flashing blue
in the murk of every day.
Imagination: entanglement made simple.



(top:; bottom:

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Beneficent Predation

(Note: John Muir walked through North American wilderness without a weapon. His agenda was simply to be where he was. But he was also made of steel and knew how to fight. jrs)

Mean-spirited people flourish when
good hearts look the other way.
Ignorance is only bliss for the ignorant.
The rest of us have to stay light on our feet,
trying to understand the laws of Nature.
To avoid being prey, some pray,
some embrace predation in a beneficent way,
some surrender all pretense and leave kindness
in shallow graves scattered across a bleak plain.



(admirable, yet implacable, predator:; gentle John Muir:

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