Frank J. Tassone

Tag: photo

  • Darkness and Light Dialoguing

    I get a bad rap, he says, and I just roll my eyes. What do you expect, I say, They’re blind around you. And they see just fine around you, he snaps, ain’t you special? I sigh, for it’s always like this lately. Complain, complain, complain! Is it my fault they depend on their eyes,…

  • Smuggs ’14 Chronicle, Day 4, July 28, 2014: My latest .@ImageCurve #Haibun

    Rain falls steady. I see the faint lines of its passage from my perch on the sofa. Classical music—a composition sounding suspiciously like circus music—plays on Vermont Public Radio. Three years with little rain: we had a good run. We therefore settle in for a cozy downtime, having earned $100 American Express gift card for…

  • Abecedarian Advise: a #TankaProse

    Autumnal clouds bare entertwining branches corral the sun distant Danann laughter echoing in the wind Forget the rules. Go where the wind whispers. Hold in your heart the sublimnity. Intuition trumps reason at times like these. Just because you can’t explain doesn’t detract from its authenticity. Kindness is a difficult choice. License is even harder.…

  • Little Things Noticed While Grieving

    You are so still. No rising and falling in your chest. You mouth lies wide open. Someone closed your eyes. The same tepid sunlight partially fills the room and casts shadows throughout. A glass of unfinished pepsi remains by your bedside. You are so still. But morticians styled your hair and applied your makeup. You…

  • Scavanger Patience

    “The best things come to those that sit and wait.” Who am I to disagree? Savannah Sun … a hyena awaits a man-killer’s remains Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Writing Prose (posted by Susan) #NaPoWriMo2019 / #GloPoWriMo2019 17/30 WD April PAD 2019 17/30

  • Sorrowful Release: a solo #renga

    Crescent moon-blown ripples on evening tide how these tear-culled thoughts arise each brightening night First Quarter a scythe-eyed glimps across an empty road how this dust-tongued mouth forms the right word at the wrong time Gibbous a bell-voiced cry no one hears how one dark-vowelled word ends a measure of joy Full Moon a tide-looped…

  • Notre Dame

    I visited Notre Dame in the Spring of 1992. The interior looked dark at the time, as few candles burned and fewer lights shined. The light from the Rose stainglass captivated me, as it had done for countless pilgrams through out the centuries. Otherwise, my visit felt pedestrian. I stare today at the video feeds…

  • And Now, a #SilentSunday (4/14/19)

    a rest from #haiku See you tomorrow!