Heming Ways Excerpt7/13/2021  The old man sat down, middle of the bridge and watched his home and village burn. The others called to him but he would not hear. Some soldiers retrieved him and placed him down on the other side of the river. He lit a cigarette, drew smoke, and tears fell.
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Cemetery of the Living7/3/2021  Cemetery of the Living, a chapbook of poetry in the tradition of memento mori, penned by yours truly, is now available. It may be read or downloaded below. Feel free to share. Enjoy! 
two more haiku for writers6/9/2021 day’s writing now done
softly sang the muse to me the story’s ending golden muse she sings the resonant words of prose close now with whisky -S. Huey untitled haiku6/9/2021  we cannot be fixed
that which is whole has not lived the broken people -S. Huey an untitled haiku6/7/2021 in tattered notebook
rereading fountain pen words words not mine the muse by S. Huey Lament of the Pandemic Children5/26/2021  mommy and daddy,
please go away… i want you to miss me, come home and kiss me, and then, like we used to, together all play all you do now, is stare at a screen and talk on the phone, while I feel so trapped here, five days a week, at home all alone i am here but you don’t see me, i speak but you don’t hear, you are both so far away, even though so near i have all of my stuffed animals, i have all of my toys… but I’d rather be playing with you, or at least with real girls and boys so mommy and daddy, please go away… but come home like you used to, at the end of the day tell me you missed me, pick me up, then kiss me… now mommy and daddy… let’s go out and play! S. Huey * First published in Raven Cage Zine, Issue 57 (May 28, 2021). ---------- Commentary: I make no pretense at being a poet. For me, this is a short story with a few words of rhyme. How does this "poem" make you feel? Hopefully, sad. But such verse can also open our eyes to truths both previously unseen and unfelt. How often do we look at life through the eyes of our children? To see as they see, to feel as they feel? They live in their own heads as do we. Food for thought I'd say. One of my personal favorite short stories (speaking of those that I have penned) was inspired by watching children play on a playground. I learned a lot that day. The Writer's Haiku5/24/2021
Blood on the Page5/10/2021  I bleed all over the page
A paper cut? Nay, The blood flows from my heart Deep and bright and red… Arterial ink I put it there In black and white For all to see They judge me But they do not know They do not understand Yet they pretend to I write therefore I am Descartes misguided… He thought therefore he was Ha! But must I myself not be before I can write? Yes… I write because I am I am because I write I am…therefore my words are And they are… On the page In blood Ink the color of soul. - S. Huey Shane HueyArchivesCategories
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