There is a hidden warmth in you
you do not show to others
and it pulls me under
like quick sand.
Or maybe it is the movement
of the sands that embalms
my body and carves out a
sinking place for it.
Or quite possibly the sands
are a prison holding my
body as it lays me down
waiting to drown as
the wicked seas overwhelm.
Or maybe I am at the helm,
I am sitting out far inside
the seas, I am waiting to
be brought ashore
I am waiting
Or I wait no more.
I am not quite sure.
Tickle your toes. . .
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I thought it would be fitting to do an original of mine, but one of it's earlier drafts. I have recently reworked this poem so it includ...
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I was just awarded the Stylish Blogger Award! (awarded by John Evans ) I was asked to write 7 things about myself,and to award 10 ot... -
We're both writers but, why is it that we cannot truly express what it is we feel without the recommendation of a movie reel- We're ...
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Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
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July 7th the face of a rose deflates our windowsill- not much of a garden. July 8th after the party- a painting is crooked I think someone d...
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husband and I trek a mile for ice cream just for the creamy banana, crunchy pecans, and chunks of thumb-sized chocolate. shoes flipping and...
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I took a week off from writing this lovely, to take a bite out of a creamy, syrupy, delicious chunk of my memoir. I have begun to tackle the...
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The Eternal Critic The light verses dark and the smudged and softened brush strokes suggests to me it is, as always, religious propaganda of...
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lean in a little. say it like it's a secret. make your breath sound like italics. click your tongue against the roof your mouth then you...
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Love is impatient with me. Love is unkind to me. It envies. It boasts. It is so proud. Love was once rude, it sought only itself and then wa...
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