http://slow.writerscafe.org/Excalibard The original writings of author redd Brick Keshner en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1779893666 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 At the edge of the inlet, brightness breaks across its surface, slender flecks darting with the tide, a quiet scatter that lingersas the current begins its shift. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3135282/ "drifter's melody"I see us theretracing our lines,a fractal caughtin the same design.The shadows stretched,the layers grown,from days of secrets,we called our own.You see a foolthe way I run,but I'm the shadow,you are the sun-Two parts of a patternthat won't untie,no matter the distanceas years drif.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3135235/ a quick ABAB http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3135116/ an allegory http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3135083/ The air is restless,a kite tugging at its string.He leans into the wind,bones lengthening faster than his shadow. Laughter spills from the street;a language he is only just learning,half-shout, half-secret. In the mirror,a stranger waits:eyes lit with something unspoken,hair falling into r.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3135008/ this familiar sequence continuing without its former partner…a place on the kitchen island your body still avoids,not out of longing,but because the pattern was shapedwhen two people shared this room.The pattern remains.You lock the door the way you were taught by repe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134998/ ...these days it's a rucksack or a shoulder tote. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134915/ “streetlight uprising” broken glass morning,sirens chewing the edges of the block,someone yelling run though no one moves,a kid kicking a dented can like it owes him a future.I catch a phrase on a peeling flyer:“don’t wait for the sky to open itself”and it hits lik.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134751/ "waking lights"The room sits in its late-hour weight,charcoal settling where the boards dip.A latch sticks; the cold has worked at itthrough weeks of short days.The radio mutters through the same reports.Outside, the yard is a sheet of dull metal,the shed roof taking the last scraps of lig.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134702/ "Waking Lights"The world is drawn in deep, Dutch lines tonight,A weight of charcoal settling on the floor.We mark the seasons by the thinning lightAnd push the stubborn latch across the door.The news repeats its old, unyielding strains,A winter working slowly through the bones,Where shadow falls acr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134647/ "Standing Where the Easel Was" I take the place he chose-this narrow hinge of streetwhere yellow gathers itselfand pushes out into the hour. The tables lean toward the roadas if waiting for a signthat never quite arrives.Their surfaces hold a soft heat,a lingering after talk has thinned.&n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134645/ “The Singer at the Gate”The latch is cold, an unhewn piece of ironresting in the quiet between two breaths.To ask is to strike the first, unpracticed note�"to risk the crack in a voice that only wantsto harmonize with the shadow on the other side.It is the clumsy reaching of .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134624/ “The Brew”I look at the machine.It’s... plastic. Black.Waiting.You take the scoop.Now, this is important. The grounds? They have to be... precise.If you don't... measure?Well.Disaster. Obviously.You pour the water. In the back.It makes a sound. A gurgle. Like a... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134618/ Inquiring of self, opened like a cold window at dawn,through necessary solitude the walls learned my breathing,and love of the questions kept its lantern beside the bed.Then came artistic patience with dust on its sleeves,while childhood memories returned carrying rainwater and ash,as.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134603/ "Younger Poet's Reply"I hear what you say about self-inquiry,how it begins without announcement,but for me it arrives in small shifts of light,a sense that something in the dayhas turned its face toward attention.Solitude helps, though not in the way you mean.It opens a quiet field where patiencemov.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134600/ thanks to Rilke and his 10 letters http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134597/ day thins on toothy edges,each request arrives, softening contours.Still, hands move in steady patterns,carrying out what the moment askswhile the inner field settlesinto quieted grain.a cup waits on the bench,its position unchanged,holding a small shift of lightas the room adjusts around its rim.sh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134523/ "quieted grain"day thins on toothy edges,each request arrives, softening contoursStill, hands move in steady patterns,carrying out what the moment askswhile the inner field settles into quieted grain.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134519/ “first time putdown”You had spent all morningworking on it.Not a masterpiece-just a thing you’d madefrom the materials at hand:cardboard, a stub of pencil,a few lines you thoughtwere clever enoughto show someone older.You waited until the right moment,or what you believedwas the ri.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134375/ "what actually is"  moving through a city route,noting the way a bus door opens,the way two strangers negotiate space     at a crossing,        the way afternoon light            angles across a shopfront,     .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134186/ "please hold the line"The outage moves through the districtlike a slow shutter:screens dim, routers blink out,the towers fall quiet.By late afternoonthe only things still runningare the old boothsnear the tram depot,their glass etchedwith years of initials.People drift toward themi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134114/ in beatween After midnight the diner keeps its steady hum,a few tables scattered with travellerstracing their own routes through the quiet. A server wipes down the counter in slow arcs,steam rising from a cup left cooling near the register,the door’s small bell giving a soft ringeach.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134097/ Morning comes softer now.You rise without rushing,the house no longer waitingfor your first move.I visit with small things -fruit cut the way you like,a cardigan folded on the chair,the kettle already warm.You smile as if surprisedthat care can travel in this direction.There was a timewhen every hou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3134051/ Vespers of neon The night loosens its grip as we step out,streets still washed in the last colours of neon,a soft shimmer running along its gutterslike a river deciding whether to keep goingor give itself over to morning.A warm breath moves through the quiet blocks,not an old enchantm.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3133987/ shrug off this dis-ease Understand the tilt,the tension within this frame,The way the dis-easeflickers like a dying flame. I’ll shrug the weight of it,the 'how' and the 'why,'If you’ll just be the metricthat doesn't tell a lie. Don't ask for a confession    &nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3133880/ Tell me more about my mother,you’d say,as if the request itselfcould open a door.Father would urge meto speak to himabout my grandmother,his mother,as though the pastwere a cupboardI could simply reach into.You see I lived with herfor several yearsand served as her companionand clinic assistan.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3133754/ "poetical queries"does it take a poet to read anotheror a poetic soul to catch a glisterdo poems fire all we can mustero'er lines traversing verses light or direwhy do poems keep an inner pyrepoetry dares conspire 'round what we admire  . http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3133399/ "recross"nature wisely prevents crosswiresand so, some groups part waystiming and reason all consideredthat is all at once sad and pragmatic the sentimentalist within rails on, sobut the inner realist grasps the dealperhaps some day paths will recross   . http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3133365/ take my breath awaywhere the soul dares to stayin the nook of every daywhere none are lead astray. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3133343/ whence there was a lovebut no language between younow mem'ries remain http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3133338/ "windswept voices"rough is the wind that forcesa trunk sideways from its long-held berth,not quick to undo what’s stood for yearsyet close enough to warn me through its scrape:we keep moving along the same worn track,no pause in the work or its miles,and something behind us still pushes forwar.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3133284/ what's been holding you Let the body speaks first.Not in grand declarations -just a slow drag across the shouldersafter too many hours upright,the way a tightening throatswallows when you've more daysthan you meant to,that small tremor of handsthat keeps asking youto set something down. It.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3133251/ The piece was finishedand left on the desk,its shape settled,its edges clear,nothing more needed.But the reply arrivedas though the pagehad been waitingfor guidance�"a soft lesson,a slowing down,a shift in direction.Soon the messagewas lifted awayfrom its .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3133242/ ""landing"  They came in from the long stretch                              of water they crossed,           the bow marked                 .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3133217/ Forget  the easy lift of a warm, steady day.This night,older than it feels, thins as it goes.Recall  the first-light, green that once felt close at hand.Yesterdaysstir what was cut loose before it could grow.Look  at the present with whatever clarity you can find.Todayf.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3133186/ weather you breathe inGrief is a solitary room,it widens into a shared landscape,some days that landscape itselfnot gonebut part of the very airthat settles around each connection,like sinew and tissue.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3132968/ "ANZAC 2026"A faint drift of camp-smoke moves across the ovalas neighbours gather in a loose ring,boots scuffing dew-dark grass.Someone reads from an old diary,paper soft at the folds,its words settle over uslike a weather front passing slow across the range.The march is smaller this year,but each s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3132759/ on the intersection of creative shame and impostor syndrome (CSIS) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3132504/ rain keeps falling...down...down...don't you forget about me.... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3132410/ threads continue on  The room carries a few movementsat the same time, none asking to be first.A single remark ends up doing the workof the whole conversation without meaning to.Two angles sit beside each other,          neither folding into the other,   .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3132339/ "creekside picnic"A bank slants toward late light,grass pressed flat where the blanket settles.Water shifts in a slow pattern,small rings widening near the fallen branch.A thermos rests in the shade,its warmth fading into the ground.Clothes lie in a loose heap near reeds,one sleeve brushing dry eart.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3132285/ briefly  Morning’s borrowed lightslides in unasked,a soft spill across the floorboards,easy as breath on a cool pane. Mourning’s borrowed lightcomes barrowed in,uncasked from whatever vesselkept it sealed till now- a gentle run that steadies over the greaves the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3132150/ the horn keeps its own track the shard warms in his grip,a small crescent with a dusk-lit core.no script on it,only a faint rise and falllike breath caught in resin.it brightens when the path bends.it dims when he drifts toward the upper air.it flares when the ground beneath himst.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3132113/ a revisiting of El Dorado (E A Poe) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3132022/ A morning like thisasks for a slow wander,whatever the street forgetspockets open to ponder: A bolt, a feather,           a bit of wire             bent by weather -each one a quiet suggestion. By midday the tablegathers its .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3131806/ A ridge sits higher than my step,a bright sphere lodged in its fork-      still out of reach,          still steady in its perch,as if the day itself paused there.A wash of colour drifts       along a slow-moving bank,a district fenced.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3131694/ …they could make us ponder. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3131660/ "The Shark's Silhouette"Far out,a darker band sometimes driftedunder the surface-not a body,not a fin,just a passing shiftin the water's weight.The minnow watched itas though it were a sign,a shape to grow into,a future already outlined.But the band kept moving,unconcerned,unfixed,never slowing enou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3131554/ "through the blue"At the public pool,a man in a faded visorlectures the swimmersabout moisture.He taps the laminated signas if unveiling a doctrine:“You're too wet.That's on you.”The lifeguard looks away,busy with the quiet workof keeping people afloat.Nearby, a gull drags a chip packeta.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3131513/ "Inroad Spring" the track runs through low scrub,a thin line worn by weatherand countless soles before.springs self reveal in small ways-a warmer breath of wind,a looseness in the soil. I keep on without rush.those who steadied mewalk with a quiet weight,not pushing, not pulling,just keepi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3131234/