http://slow.writerscafe.org/Excalibard The original writings of author redd Brick Keshner en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775997063 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 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/ "Taking Up Arms"( © 2001 )`War is come upon us,imposing our timid nationto rise up and take arms.I will march off alongwith the rest of your sonsto that sea of blood,Supplied by the riversof our throbbing wounds;while honour and patriotismcollide in barbaric swil.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3131225/ "a willing silence"Each morning the stairwell landingwidens a little, then sways.Not enough to alarm,just enough that I steady myselfon the rail I've held for years.The larder behaves differently now.Shelves bare when I stand before them,full again when I step away.Jars settling into placeas if they.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3131212/ "a little lower"We were shaped on the sixth day,set down in the grit and daylight,hands still smelling of the ground.They say we sit just under the bright ones,not quite lifted, not quite settled,a middle place we carry without complaint.Most days we feel small enough-like something meant for the so.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3131158/ City of Crosswind’s Handsi walk toward a place no craftsperson claimed,a rise where the day keeps shifting its weight.behind me, the porch talk sharpened to hate,yet the road held steady, quiet, unnamed,and i followed its pull through scrubland untamed.others came too, each carrying .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3131043/ Sermon Excerpt -Pentecost Sunday, 2004            "Let us not mistake‘tongues of fire’ for drama alone.Sometimes the Spirit descendsas a leaf in your laundry,or a child’s whisper in the bath.These too are flame-less spectacular, perhaps.&nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3131019/ “turning clean” endless turns mark hours,hand, quietly movingthrough whatever pain waits,its cold, watchingset against heart, alreadybruised by wringingkeeps its own pace,a kind of steady proving day carries pitcha cry held low,quiet running througha stretch of dark, on ro.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3130699/ “before the war” http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3130693/ “hail to embark”He waited at the stop,streetlight clouding above him,timetable long past meaning.In the window of the shelterhe caught himself -not a threat,just someone         who’d missed    too many departures.A bus passed      .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3130601/ “Soul Trained”Most afternoons, the place held its usual quiet,the kind that settles when you’re the oneturning the lock from the inside.You’d drop your bag by the heater,let the screen take up its post,steady voice filling the roomlike a light left on for whoever ne.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3130281/                                            "hallway split" One waits in the hallway,coat already half-on,the air too tightto stand in any longer. The other movesthrough the loungew.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3130223/ “another stretch of light”They speak again of cool gardens,of melons split wide,of leeks softening in a potthat never hurried.We hear it,but the day’s work won’t pausefor old flavours.The path ahead is dry,the load uneven,yet it’s ours to carry.We steady the camp,set th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3130131/ "wilderness kills"  They speak again of cool gardens,of melons split wide,of leeks softening in a potthat never hurried. We hear it,but the day’s work won’t pausefor old flavours. The path ahead is dry,the load uneven,yet it’s ours to carry. We steady the c.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3130114/ neither is it hello.<iframe width="1258" height="519" src="https://on.soundcloud.com/Y3X8uOfPcn80sAvdWX" title="this is not goodbye" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" referrerpolicy="strict-origin-when-cross.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3130099/ Thinking of great rivers in Americana like the Mississippi and the Ohio, and of course many other “roads & highways” of their day http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3130021/ “a solitary room”Grief is a solitary room,it widens into a shared landscape,some days that landscape itself-not gone, but part of the very airthat settles around each connection,a kind of weather you move throughand breathe in…. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3126386/ He walks as though the floor might shift,not from fear,but from learning the weight of each new step.A face assembled from borrowed futures,caught in the glow of laboratory lampsthat promise more than they can hold.The maker watches,hands still warm from the work,unsure whether to greet or retr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3125682/ ”Nipper” A small dog waitsbeside the brass horn,ears lifted,body held in that soft readinessonly devotion can teach.Once a wanderer,he learned the shape of shelterin the warmth of a single voice. Now the room is quiet,yet he leanstoward the horn’s bright mouthas though a .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3124401/ Blisspoint  The chemists know it:a curve on the graphwhere sugar sings loudest,before the tongue grows numb.The marketers know it:a dial tuned to craving,not too much, never too little,just enough to keep youcoming back for more. And we know it too-that momentbefore laughter becomes h.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3124084/ “Con-Flakes” They sell us breakfast in boxes,bright mascots with teeth too whiteto have ever chewed regret. Each flake a sermon:fortified with iron,but brittle as promisessigned in disappearing ink. I pour them anyway,a cascade of counterfeit crunch,the milk foaming like a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3123920/ On the way down, the mountain grows taller behind me. Perspective is a trickster like that.I feel lighter, though nothing in my pack has changed. Only the weight of my thoughts has shifted.At the trailhead, I turn once more to the looming shape above me.The mountain says nothing. And somehow, that i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3123398/ “compelled as ever”I write because I must-because the hour arrives unbiddenand yet expects to be received.There is a kind of trembling in it,a soft urgency,as though the words themselveshave travelled farand would be woundedto find the door closed.And so I open it.I take up the pennot ou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3122471/ I’d write of the Tax Collector,  that predatory fellow Whose appetite for your savings  is as boundless as his bellow, And who, when told  the Government is “cutting” costs,  responds with cheerful yup-For every time they cut a doll.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3122339/ “The Bridge at Dusk”They met where the old stone pathdropped toward the river bend,light thinning, air sharp enoughto make every breath feel earned.Neither had planned its timing.Both arrived as if summonedby the same stubborn thought.“So you came.”The voice carried more grit.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3122231/ St Pancras lifts its red brick above the rails,morning light slithering like a spine along the archesas travellers eddy in loose currentstoward platforms breathing warm air.A name rolls through the hall-PAN-'krəs-and in the drift of bodiesanother sound shivers beside it,PANK-ree-'&#60.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3122152/ “between the leaves”Midday.A shaded path beside the stream.The grass glows in the heat.Damp earth rises - sharp, clean -with a faint scent of wet bark.A first gustturns.A curl of dust rises at my feet.The air carries a metal tang.The stream clicks over stone,answered by a soft rustlesome.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3121963/ Broad-Backed CityCity with grit under its fingernails,you stand there like someone who knowsthe job will outlast the daylight.You laugh with your whole chest,not because the world is kind,but because the joke lands betterwhen you’re still upright.I’ve walked your blocks at first light,st.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3121838/ "winterspeak"I'll let winter speakin its own slow cadence.Walk at its pace.And listen for what it utterswith unrehearsed patient attention. In this pared-back season,your strongest linesmay yet arrive quietly,asking only that you notice them.     . http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3121579/ “Ode to the Poem That Built Itself”  It begins with a small stir-a notion barely awake,lifting its head as if the airhad asked it to begin. One notion nudges another,and soon they travel in pairs,trading weight, trading colour,finding new shapes in the drift. Lines ga.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3121564/ "our old stretch" We gather with the year still warmfrom all the hands that shaped it,passing cups across the tableas if the work might start againthe moment someone nods.We speak of what we carried here-not to weigh it, not to measure,only to name the scraps that stayedin pockets, boots, and n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3121318/ A window holds its breathFrost gathers at the corners,coat brushing the airthat sharpens a thoughtquietly sure of itself. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3121184/ "essence in Surikov"  He wrote it as the warmth left his hand,a red-warm script rising from within,as though the line itself carried breath:"In this life it is not new to die," spoken with the calm of someonewho has watched winter iteratingits familiar pattern for centuries,each retur.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3121066/ “winter palette“Winter leans in with a painter’s restraint,lifting soft blues from the frost’s first breath,letting tree-shadows sketch silver across the ground.Branches rise like quiet script,each stroke a reminderthat pared-back beautyasks only to be seen.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3121011/  “The Pseudonym’s Room”There is a roomwhere names are left at the door,stacked like coatson a winter hook.Inside, the air carriesa faint shimmer of work undone pages half-'turned,ink settling into its own shape.A chair waitsfor whoever enters next,unconcerned with signatu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3121004/ "a new day whistling" The day presses in-a slow tightening-and the air runs thin enoughto split the skin at my mouth’s border.Sweat gathers at my jaw,dust touches the tongue,and the ground answers each stepwith the dry crunch of gravel.I pause-right at the linebetween what wasand what wai.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3120902/ "of shards and fragments" One story walks the desert,  learning to endure.  The other climbs the rock,  vanishing without answer.  Both leave fragments-survival and absence-to be carried, not resolved.  A cry begins,  cut short,  collapse denied,  enduran.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3120694/ As Absence TurnsThe sky bends under unnamed weight,a path without its anchor,voices gather but refuseto name what hardens or shines. Light fractures across the stone,a sudden presence where absence ruled.The ground steadies, yet no mooring holds,and brightness refuses to gleam by name. Anc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3120448/ A Widow’s Lament in the Age of No FlowersLate on the night of January’s frost, I watched my husband pay the final cost. They brought him wreathes, they brought him song, they crowned his rest, they called it strong. But I cannot forget the other ground, where no flowers bloom, no be.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3120287/ “Chapbook to Online”The stapled spine once helda handful of pages,ink pressed into paperlike a secret carried in pockets.Hands exchanged them quietly,a folded gift at readings,each cover a doorwayto a room of gathered breath.Now the screen glows,scroll replaces turning,a poem arrives in .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3120175/ Oh, the smell and stain of mimeo ink, Gestetner stencil paper, sharp and grainy, the scratching stylus rasping its mark- embedded forever in memory.And then the well: rusty lever squeaks and squawks, iron throat coughing water, palms left with a ferrous scent.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3119840/ outstaring a blank wall You stand before a wall.It waits, blank as withheld breath.What hovers over you?Drafts unpinned,stories unspoken,videos sealed,pages chasing horizonsthat never arrive.Perfection dithers-a mask for delay.What if you placedone imperfect mark?What if you let motioncarve its.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3119685/ …a revision courtesy of a comment from Chad http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3119580/ hearth of language Set the table, and let the light fall, cut the bread, cost nothing but time. Read my face for the story- for and, or but, yet so-we keep finding ways to meet.  A few laughs shared, a lot of pauses filled, twenty of those small gestures .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3119531/ The poem bares its teeth: a hyena,laughter breaking in jagged bursts,circling the margins,menace felt in scuffling shadows. Then it rises upright: a meerkat,eyes darting across horizons,paws quick in sudden scurry,a hesitant vigil before burrowing. Between circling and scurry,menace and pl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3119463/ Running With WolvesThey said: run with us, scratches carved into bark, clawmarks angled like invitations. I tightened laces, the ground scattering needles across my steps, mocking leather with its own sharp laughter. Breath rose in clouds, a timetable wri.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3119220/ “What Fox Says” Fox says: apprivoiser won’t be possessedbut a slow-weave of absence into threadyou tilt among the starsand i trace the outline of your missing shapeknowing the outline itself still abides there the sketch suspendshollowed lines tremble whilei cra.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Excalibard/3119111/