Tag Archives: B.S. Roberts

BS ROBERTS: A Division

Artistic, Submissions, Touching, , , ,

I have a notebook—leather-bound, the size of a palm—filled with my musings. It’d been packed away, lost with my marriage.

When discovered again, a mouse had chewed it for her nest. The poems are gone; I don’t remember what had been written.

I’m glad they found a purpose.

When not indulging himself by reading or writing poetry and prose, B.S. Roberts makes a living as a museum curator and an administrative assistant at the University of Maine at Augusta. He lives in Maine with his fiancée, daughter, silver pheasants, and four cats. bsroberts.com

BS ROBERTS: Blowing Off the Dust

Adventure, Artistic, Submissions, , , , ,

With a swipe of my hand, the pentagram completes. Cold air ignites into neon light. I wave, pushing the star away—curtailing physics, defying rationality. Choking on my tears, my naivety of a moment ago astounds me.

As the glow fades, I close the ancient tome. Magic becomes fantasy again.

When not indulging himself by reading or writing poetry and prose, B.S. Roberts makes a living as a museum curator and an administrative assistant at the University of Maine at Augusta. He lives in Maine with his fiancée, daughter, silver pheasants, turtle, and four cats. See more at bsroberts.com.

BS ROBERTS: Morning Air

Artistic, Submissions, , , ,

I can’t tell where land falls into water, nor where the lake bleeds into the sky. Between gentle laps of waves, a black blemish appears – a boat drifting in still water. A lone man stares.

Hesitant, I call, “Hello?”

No response.

The fog shrouds him as though he’d never been.

When not indulging himself by reading or writing poetry and prose, B.S. Roberts makes a living as a museum curator and an administrative assistant at the University of Maine at Augusta. He lives in Maine with his fiancée, daughter, silver pheasants, turtle, and four cats.