Dreams,our penultimate lifeline.Small dreams.Big dreams.Everything dream in between.Dreams appear asthunder and lightening.As a rhythmic clock ticking.They follow us, whispering.Dreams stand in front of us and
Rules a publisher gave me when writing poetry: 1. Don’t rhyme. It’s out of favor. 2. Left justify. Don’t center. 3. Get away from themes
The first appearance. Chill in the air. The purity of each little flake. Frozen perfection. How it tumbles from the sky and lands in sublime
Sunset on the hill. Favorite time of day. Bats, bugs, birds. Flit, flap, buzz. All the searching. Seeking. Surrender ledto the top of a hill.
Never stopped being in love with what we were. A memory. a fantasy, So long ago. Years and places and people ago. Roads diverged after
You murdered me because of the color of my skin. Not because of my culture. Not because of my religion. Not over territory rights or