in the shadowy enclave-
you see fireflies.
I see stars.
Tickle your toes. . .
-
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...
-
like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
-
In my dreams I am the fictional version of myself. The one I seek to be in my short-stories and prose. The one who gets her point across but... -
August 2003! A spree, and the W.A.P another month of you and possibly me W.A.P stands for wild animal park, if you don't remember- the ...
-
My latest endeavor is to begin reading "Tell it Slant: Writing and Shaping Creative Nonfiction" by Brenda Miller and Suzanne Paula...
-
in August for John Keats I didn't die unrequited. I took a wife in August. My wife was wearing silky white shoulders holding out her bon...
-
To those who forget Poesy, like she's the wallflower at the dance I'm sorry you've never known words to be like picnic ants infe...
-
The fog has permenantly frosted the window pane- my fingers tracing, communicating nothing, I leave perpetual markings--eternal my love for ...
-
You, look out the window. See that there is more to life than what bangs around in your brain These frustrations in me coarse from there to ...
-
I might even chance to stand on your back, for a lift, I wish my conscience could shirk the endless streaming seeds, inside my head, your br...
Poets United Contributor
No comments:
Post a Comment