That’s Her
That’s her. That is her. Time doesn’t spoil the spirit. It cracks the cocoon That is her body open. That’s her. That is her. The wind won̵...
Tag: Writing
And Now I Remember
And now I remember. It’s like the first breath. Past troubled lives. Over shards of painted idols roughly hewn By a dumb craftsman. I’m with you now...
Lunchtime Poetry
Wash it all away. Into the quiet … Hush. I stand before my God. What else was I seeking?
Six Word Memoir For the Past Six Months
It was fun. Then it wasn’t.
Lunchtime Poetry
A train passes, cries. Sobbing new life throbs within once quiet hills.
Lunchtime Poetry
Rain falls. Even these words are wet and soaking. A fog rises and obsures the past. The crust of past experience. But sometimes I remember how it used to be.
Balloon, Orange Juice, Tape Recorder
Dominique Manfredi sat outside at a corner table at The White Peacock Café. He had just ordered two eggs (sunny side up), toast with raspberry marmalade, espres...
There Were Trees
I remember there were trees, And shadows And the smell of wet grass And tiny ripe berries That my Mom said were poisonous, So that I wouldn’t eat them. An...