Hands cast on bent knees, touch reminding of the connection, grounded to this life, eyes drifting to the distance, lured by amused expectations and future incantations.

– Josh Fleming


Oblique is the sentence of life carried off by death, no rest for those that stay behind, remembrance a harsh-beauty, beholding what is lost, with what is to become.

– Josh Fleming

The Watchman

The owl watches from within and without, peering through the void, dividing the lines of darkness from the light, visions of two worlds enfolding, a silence in the space between, disturbances in the field below, movements confirmed, a message received, one shot one kill. Surgical precision, cuts the cord, bridging this life to the next, the package delivered safely to the other-side.


– Josh Fleming



This mind obsessively shaking the leaves of thought from the tree of knowledge, only dead branches, no fruit left to fall.

Solitude, the quiet hush of liberation, time given to listen to the sun, a patient in waiting, seasons pass with the wind, suddenly awakening, a flower arc’s through the fold.

– Josh Fleming

The Game

We are children born from this Queen, trying to play against her rule, ignorant to the advances of our own moves. The Queen shall not bow down to her throne; a surprise attack awaits around every corner. Looking to the east, the remains of our ancestors, failed transgressions never succeeding against her will.

– Josh Fleming

An in-process exploration of writings about life