where the writers are

Tim Johnides's Writings

The Backstop   The red and rust And crumbling marking time in the quiet warmth of the day broken links of folded fabric seal the wrinkled memories Lined within his face   His cherished son a leader of boys Became a leader of men In a faraway place Borrowed but not given Only a neatly folded flag in return   indifferent weeds muffle memories of...
I thought of this concept for two years as I would wake at night from time to time and look at my wife Karen sleeping (Chaya is her Jewish name meaning "life"). Our son couldn't make his rent Christmas 2009 so there went our Holiday money to spend on each other. I wrote this for her to have something to give....comment welcome...tj To Chaya after 32...
From Detroit The westward sunken concrete canal hides a shattered city this 80 mile per hour river of metal ambitions fleeing westward The rooftops Surging like waves I am mindful of the chaos The possibility of a quick drowning death today was my day, I hit it head on no blood or broken glass The singular casualty my preoccupation with not drowning But...