http://slow.writerscafe.org/jackworthington The original writings of author Jack Worthington en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776344953 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 The setting sun is cooled from his noontime glareNow a bright orange disk in the smoggy skySlowly easing to the ground in despairNo longer the all seeing noontime eye.  Unapproachable on his daytime arcMighty, chasing shadows under rocksNowhere to hide, extinguishing the darkWatching ships sail.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/1395316/ My eyes opened to the sunlight streaming through the skylightsMeasured steps down the stairs, looking at the clock aheadOnly seconds from my bed, my head felt like molten leadThe clock face measured its time, a face of pearl white.Time felt heavy, laden with cool spring air, Why did I settle?  .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/1343072/ She sat there in a chair looking out the picture windowThe sun remained high in the sky that afternoonSighing, she stared blankly watching the flowers bloomResigned to her fate, which was not to be a widow.I'm going to hell she said, but that was not her callAt least she lived, and cried, and laughe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/1205565/ He fears what he does not know, a wise voice saidFists of white knuckles, holding tight, dreadingFor all under his wrath, there would be no endingThis dejected soul, this petulant soul, was already dead.But I did not go with the flockTrusting was never in my beingI broke the chains upon a blockSheet.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/1200467/ All things come and go, their presence precarious at bestLegacies worn down over time's pounding rain unendingBlood flows from appendages to the heart, money from the restThe best and brightest toil in ever smaller spaces fending.Death by paper cuts, empty paragraphs weigh heavilyTo match the empty .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/1186229/ All decays, the leaves on the trees and the stars in the skyEnding in various shades of brown and blackSlowly neutralized, then oxidized as electrons fly awayMy brashness gone, it's confidence I lack.Nothing ages well, even fine wine has its daySo it is with nations as politicians playThe game is al.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/1033907/ short poem http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/928864/ He said he was from Colorado, then from TexasI'm still uncertain from where but somewhere out thereWhere the dust clowds blow in the summer airMany small towns are out there, where America despairs.Consuming his drink he called himself the son of wetbacksNo shame in that I said, were all w******s in.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/802616/ Seven years ago a vow was madeEven then, she seemed quite afraidConcerned her hair stayed in its braidOn that morning before the day began to fade.  A year went in and a year went outThen another without so much as a poutAnd then a third, with our daughter bornNot long after our love seemed wor.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/780113/ Long ago but just yesterday I knew a man who flewIn a town so far away where the nights became the dayThe sun shone so bright on this city made of clayOur dreams were big, the day long, and the city new.Time was unknown to us but always there As seconds clicked to minutes and hours to yearsThe .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/752601/ His heart sank with the sun as another day passedLight streamed through panes of glass to touch the floor Casting ever longer shadows that covered the doorHe reached for his keys tripping over a cordStepping down stairs, he slipped into his Ford.He knew each crack by rote, only a few blocks Nor.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/738574/ The golden sun set over the crest of the big foggy mountainIn it's wake, a thousand shades of green slowly turned greyThe leaves of oak unfurled wave goodbye to the midsummer dayStill damp from the noontime rain, dripping like a fountain.The leaves of the oaks interlock, like hands that prayCreating.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/729800/ Papers strewn about, victims of callous thoughts gone nowhere.I remember a time, seems so long ago, before our world went asunder .No weeping, the room is silent, my heart sinking heavily into my chest.As I remembered that time, when the radiant sun, danced around your dress.Oh that thoughtless age,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/567966/ Throughout the ages past and yet to comeIn an ocean of pride and cynicismHearts filled with truth are never undoneJust as light comes through a prism.Humanity is a concept, something cold and abstractBut the world if full of people, of flesh and blood intactAll the hidden plans of evil men laid bare.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/509176/ Long after commuters have said goodbyeFlurries of snow fall from the skyInto the charcoal canyon belowA measure of silence the God bestowed.Florescent street lamps cast shadows aroundTheir bluish light barely streaming to the groundWhere cracks in the pavement are barely foundYet pat.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/504404/ Several years ago, but not so many, I sat down on a stone wall in the yardPeering upwards at the blackness of space above, and the bright flickering of the starsMy heart not yet filled with impurities,And vision not yet corrected from infirmities.Yet the light from that night still illuminates a cor.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/500162/ Arriving just in time, I drop down the hill to the bay belowI watch the pines brace themselves from the sea, looking away to the landWave upon wave thrusts against stone upon God's command, turning them to sandThe pines have chosen mortality, acting more like weeping willows.Gentle winds of the sea,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/498938/ Sitting in a chair, a glass of ice water sitting on the floor, my life sits boxed in the cornerEach item given away, representing a memoryEach item kept retaining sentimentalityThe half empty room sits nearly naked, illuminated by a large dormer. The sunlight exposing places never cle.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/486870/ Feeling down, I look around at the world passing before meThe sun on its fatalistic arc, streams light through aluminum blindsA fading afternoon, where nothing was done but wasting timeI slip on my shoes and sunglasses, and then grab my keys. My car is there waiting, for a destination.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/477398/ Standing tall on the arid desert floorAn ancient young man throws his arms to heavenHe can not shout our names but knows us through our brethrenPoised with dignity, year by year, a man of native lore. Only seeing light and dark and feeling hot and coldThe sun scorches his hairy back.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/469407/ Whatever you do, don't believe in yourselfThey say this is the key to happiness and wealthBut if you tread this path, or ease into this warm bath,The fates will turn their heads and laugh. He who believes in himself has no time to believe in youAll that's left in his heart is residu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/458020/ He stood on a railway platform to the citySquinting through his glasses waiting for the trainHis wife at home, an unwatered plant no longer prettyAt 9am he arrives at work in the rain. At his desk he slurps his coffee for which he did not payFor life is a mulligan, his doeover day b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/456715/ As I escape from a latin flavorI merge to the left to avoid the truck lanesOver the hill a new life to savorAway from the smog and lame. I hit the gas to the top of the hillSlower than a tortoise it is no thrillI run this gauntlet day by dayWith all my precious time I pay.&nbs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/456700/ war of course http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/456602/ It was an age of innocenceA fleeting moment in timeWhen hearts felt so sublimeSoon our hearts would be jaded, hardened by circumstance. The sun set over the bungalowMusic still playing on the radioSunsets, as life, are but fleetingThe fear took hold of tomorrow's meeting.&nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/456404/ Rolling down the road in a silver FordI spy on the soldiers along the roadOne by one they line in formation, as if a subliminal confirmationThat their precious cargo will reach its destination.They spread their arms through the orange sunlightSome on mountains, others on plains and valle.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/456370/ One late afternoon I walked by a churchThe saints long buried and returned to the earthTheir peace, now broken, posterity's token, has given birthA baloon entangled itself in a birchI could not bear to look awayYet the past could not bare false witnessAs I watched that iron gate sway, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/456369/ Years ago, in the twilight of my youthA place emerged at the bottom of a hillThis well worn refuge from the chillAt a table I sat uncouth. I smelled the jasmine from outsideWaiting for life to beginI know today the waste of time gone byFor now I sigh, with hollow memories and mu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/454763/ Tell me what's real, I need to knowFor what purpose I don't know, perhaps to grow, but who knowsI remember that town, an arid place, where only people growThat valley, where the sun in all its glory shows, so acidic on the soul. Yet even light can come with pain, especially without ra.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/454740/ Our golden westWhere dreams of our fathers layThe yellow and grey pictures from by the baySo long ago, people at their best, envied by the rest, they passed their test, now at rest. A crumb of the dream for me, so tasty yet not filling.The crowds and masses from the eastThey came .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/454736/ On a cool, cloudy, Saturday morning he entered the station, an hour before departureWalls that smelled of time and bleachers made of pine witness to ages passedOf soldiers leaving, lovers returning, and friends who fade into the fog like a mastThe station sits cold and idle, like a church whos.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/454732/ I opened the door, bracing against the coldMy hat and gloves and coat shelterd me from an icy arctic windI reached to close the door behind and cast the salt around to find a path to which my feet my bindAs I carefully tread the steps, I gazed up to a sight that was something to behold.&nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/454269/ The officer gently set his files on the passenger seatThen drove an hour north, for his encounter with a cheatThe canyon road, winding and narrow, imprisoned him in iron chainsHe’d heard the lies all before and dealt with many pains. The music blared from the radio, his glasses .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/453648/ You've seen a lot my friend, your weathered letters showThe autumn rain gently tapping on the windows, turning to winter flakes of snowOf first communions come and gone, and diamond rings which the women fawn, your legacy lives onThat thief that came to pawn, his desperate eyes sung no song&.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/453644/ Resting on a two lane highway, not a destination, but a way station for weary travelersSome adventurers, some dreamers, most just seeking comfort from the nightThey’ve come to rest, as tomorrows test, will be grueling pure delightThere this room, greets its guests who reek of cigarettes .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/453413/ Down the hill and after sunset, on the beach I sit in sandOn my back the vacuum of space, its cold hands embrace me in its victory over warmth The drumbeat of the tide, and all of evil’s pride spread loneliness upon the earth But on this beach, God’s mercy from above, instructed li.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jackworthington/453380/