This feral land born of fury and lightening flash untamed by gusty prairie winds in some chronological strata near the still earth you can hear…
This feral land born of fury and lightening flash untamed by gusty prairie winds in some chronological strata near the still earth you can hear…
They say she writes from high atop a glitzy glass tower her frailty seeping through in melancholy ink. A lovelorn poet lost she rifles memory’s pages…
This poem is for the Miracle Girl and her current WordPress challenge. Visit her blog to read the rules and write your own story or…
As the wind blows around those silos there and grains scatter from the hand of care the sun is going down on the village builder.…
We are lost in this land down from Farm to Market Road golden sinking slowness behind us approaching Saturday night at the cafe. Catfish, ice…
Between the moss and the sun’s misty rays a majestic explosion of enormous woody trees the vibrancy of life’s core secrets strewn with leaves made from…
Sometimes you can hear the echoes of years when the wind whistles like a screech owl on those farm to market roads and highways that…
Today’s quote is rather pithy, mainly because I like saying the word, “pithy”. At first, I was a little leery of quoting Mr. Carradine due…
Riding on horses those pale, pinched faces in times where one year became ten in the lines on their haggard faces. The hard battlefield opened…