The poet sits in the tall grass.Wind here. Wind there.A shelter from the wide worldAt the desk. In the chair.The cursor blinking its impatience.What’s next? What’s next? What’s next? A Fluid Language Of Code Sometimes my brain thinks in poetry. It’s weird. It’s like a… Read More »It’s Time!
The older I get, and the older my mom gets, the more alike we become. It’s a beautiful reality. Growing up, my Mom’s favorite color was yellow. I didn’t understand that as a child when there were so many other great colors to have as… Read More »Happy Thought
The Strange Creature, Poetry For many years, the great majority of poetry was a strange creature to me. Some of it I couldn’t understand at all. I had no idea how to read it, though I was intrigued. I knew I would love it if… Read More »Seven Year Silence
Today is Sunday. Today my rest looks like watching football and doing laundry. I’ll be setting up my week and possibly lounging in my pj’s all day long. Or maybe not. It’s a fluid day. A flow where the river takes me day. But I… Read More »A Word About Poetry
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