Feste's Lute

Scribbles & Sketches of the Unspeakable

I hate link-baiting

… but the only thing worse is ending your news site post/article with “What do you think? Let us know in the comments.”

Feste’s Lute: Carnival Times

Per a request, this is an account of how I met my wife. It’s six years old, and so awkward in places (especially at the beginning) that I hesitate to post it. I’ve never felt that I was the best prose writer… However, I like the idea and, once past the first few paragraphs, the piece as a whole. It’s beautifully sincere.

Here’s a hint, the threads are books. We met because of the books we loved, with some matchmaking from the music we loved…

click thru to the original for more…


I feel so content. It seems like all my life I’ve spent searching, trying to find something beyond the bland modern fascinations. It seems like I’ve run from distraction to distraction hoping that, amidst all the glitter, I would find gold.

One day walking amidst funhouse tunes and clusters of…

Feste’s Lute: Carnival Times


Oh dear, sincere
was the last face
you started.
A runner in
last place
on the stairs.
Maybe if we
tripped we’d
find the words,
the feelings,
the base
meant to
raise these towers.
Instead we have
only paisley,
amazon logos, and
cravats that never
tied the knot.

The Iris, Closed

We’re drenched to
our ankles.
Lovely lovers lie
locking stares
at all angles,
and we’re a void
littered with chalk
scratches, crossed
hatches in vacuum —
copped a look,
but it was
never mine.

Tanned Rough

Lines let go
abraided, convexing
hex spellchecks —
his slithering
druthers are
smothered with
angst. Hot dog!
Those six nuns
are frank. Prayers
embroiled, they
shawl the glorious
shafts in shampoo flutes.
It’s all conditioning.