There she was appearing again standing in the half-light the moon in her hand. Honeysuckle watfting intense white in the night. Dreams speak of dragons…
There she was appearing again standing in the half-light the moon in her hand. Honeysuckle watfting intense white in the night. Dreams speak of dragons…
Why can’t life be like a box of chocolates? it’s not, you know it doesn’t melt on your tongue luscious, velvety smooth dark enough to…
I recently discovered blackout poetry when working with a group of AP junior high English students. This is a fun, creative activity utilizing old books…
I found a wounded swallow battered from this world curled upon leaves of falsity fragile as it was chemistry thrown askew she had tried to…
Lonely little alcove second story up at the edge of town train whistle blasts my memories loud the purple morning glory was summer’s redemption Hodge-podge…
Where does your poetry go when you wake unrested from a restless night does it rattle down that old road like a rusty car back…
Wind picks up swirls the fine-grained sand that seeps through long days hourglass mode outside the boundaries of a busy world life crawls under a…
Breauman saunters out full step amidst wafting smells of fresh cut hay scratchy suit rough hewn like him brim of his hat tasting the salt…
“April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.” — T.S. Eliot…
Memory is large harboring an ancient forest of timeless trees an ocean of vast waves Generosity is smart as a wizened, old owl Fear is…