Golden tendrils on her shoulder
no rhyme, no reason, just getting older
her half-pint work of exhaltation
now serves as mere constant frustration.
I hold a book to my chest,
wondering how much time to invest.
Should I help her get her daughter to sleep-
for sure our friendship that will reep.
I will only be stepping on toes.
and this is how the childless thinking goes.
Tickle your toes. . .
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To my fellow poets, for William Shakespeare Discredit all that you will read about me. Treasonous hands have bestowed difficult words which ...
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At age 25 for Sir John Donne Down went San Felipe. Crimson and pale, rippling, clinging to it's mist. Oh, how that flagship hurled itsel...
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Letter to Kate For William Blake My Catherine Sophia, as you would be known. You were just Kate. Child of Pity, full of mouth. Widened but i...
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take flight in linen and lace. things will mesh if you want them to. just throw yourself up against it and maneuver dainty fingers over tiny...
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Private Edgar Perry for Edgar Allen Poe I reported for duty, a Bostonian, surly, moody, unsteady. Twenty and two, not eighteen, Yes, twenty ...
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River Crossing for Langston Hughes My descent is to the South. And it makes my pen itch with anxiety. For I have spent days holding my breat...
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there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
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RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner.... -
Pedi-ness The awkward tomboy within me hides in the balls of my feet. Itching, rising up my leg begging for a scratch. "Oh, say somethi...
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to have sticky pins for fingertips and ballpoint pens for thumbs. then I could fascinate myself to you, and write away doldrums.
Poets United Contributor
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