by Robert Lee Haycock | Dec 11, 2017 | Uncategorized |
My great aunt Mary told me this story one Christmas. My mother’s grandparents had arrived in the City of Angels back in the day when the sheriff was standing on the bridge, rifle at the ready to send those Oakies and Arkies back home. Mary was the youngest and a...
by Robert Lee Haycock | Jul 10, 2017 | photographs, poetry
Our moon lived on that corner where some words burned a hole in the sky with their endless requests for blond haired boys mouthing sounds of brass and reed very young and very old forever second guessing wayward Venus and something I don’t know the name of...
by Robert Lee Haycock | Mar 6, 2017 | photographs, poetry |
I’m sure I’ve heard them say that twilight is too late over dawning mountain and dying river dark authority of vine dead end road down night’s sinking street along this opulence of forgotten highways away in great smiling circles a madrigal of...
by Robert Lee Haycock | Dec 24, 2016 | poetry
a work in progress—editor The King is in his counting house Paper Cars Dreaming of the open road A matter of time The circus came to town You and I Another morning’s repast There is that moon Christening Yet what Hold your nose Bread and butter...
by Robert Lee Haycock | Nov 22, 2016 | poetry |
Mom and Dad and Becky and Barry and I were headed to Palmdale for Thanksgiving with Papa and Gammy and Barbara and Floyd and Donna and Karen and Jerry and John and on our way there we stopped at the Rocks Flea Market south of Hollister like we always did on our...
