Author Archives: PatrickB

About PatrickB

Space enthusiast. Marketing Strategist. Poetry zealot, and #2 existential literature fan after Albert Camus. Author of 'rogue'- a collection of poetry.

Water – [poem]

Pure and simple does it flow
from high spring to salton seas
as come in the form of rain or fog
does the water flow long and free
dew upon blades – needles pine
to the jungles with coffees and tea
to the great plains of Arkansas
does the water flow long and free
stopped at glacier cold, frozen stiff
burrows of caves with no light for one to see
cascade from Sierra mountain cliffs Continue reading

A Taste for Space – [poem]

I once sat with this boy, on a clear Summer night
With nothing but stars and glimmering lights,
Nothing but silence sat between us
Yet I felt that he was fidgeting a great big fuss

He looked up wondering where space could be
Yet, only blackness was waiting from what he could see
“I don’t see it, I don’t see what you mean,”
Flustered from finding that that ‘space’ hadn’t been seen Continue reading

Dread: An Essay on Anxiety

It’s a weight – anxiety. Like a gravitational surge. It feels like what the inside of a black hole would be. Stretching your soul eternally until it’s a noodle that keeps getting stretched without abandon. You have no say in its vigor, and you’re no stranger to its lasting effects. Like a guest at a party in which you’ve engaged  in a conversation  – you can neither ask them to leave, for fear of being rude, and you cannot foresee them leaving because you keep feeding it with your attention. And so, it stays.

It is, for all intents and purposes, something we all feel from time to time. A surge of emotion that is so raw that any amount of sushi we have eaten in our lives cannot prepare us for the uncooked rawness that it has upon our soul. Continue reading

A&P by John Updike

In walks these three girls in nothing but bathing suits. I’m in the third check-out slot, with my back to the door, so I don’t see them until they’re over by the bread. The one that caught my eye first was the one in the plaid green two-piece. She was a chunky kid, with a good tan and a sweet broad soft-looking can with those two crescents of white just under it, where the sun never seems to hit, at the top of the backs of her legs. I stood there with my hand on a box of HiHo crackers trying to remember if I rang it up or not. I ring it up again and the customer starts giving me hell. She’s one of these cash-register-watchers, a witch about fifty with rouge on her cheekbones and no eyebrows, and I know it made her day to trip me up. Continue reading