 |
The Little B*****d~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Iwish I'd seen him in Fairmountwith a Stetson hat, blue jeans, and boots;or with his collar turned up on a ra..
|
 |
I will plant daffodils at your grave.When they've grownand blossomed, when they're huggedby an apricot-colored sun,I'll see them exist,cheerful in sm..
|
 |
Once in a while,as though pulled in by some desireor force,some decide to take a ride backto Writers Cafe.It's not always a long visit, yetthey still ..
|
 |
An old one on the observation of poets.
|
 |
In the yard, in the fogof a heavy downpour two toddlers wore the rainlike tight-fitted jeans which clung to them so soggy, and yet ~ in moments of ..
|
 |
A variation on another poem I wrote.
|
 |
~Echoes of You~Your ghost hides in the corners of our wrinkled sheets,reaching out transparent hands to grasp at my foolishness.I've never enjoyed swi..
|
 |
~~~The wind will not stop sighing. Its words are insistent and foreign,
hour after hour...
It runs through the fields
and sprints through tr..
|
 |
Reading
|
|
|
first
prev
Profile
Writing
Friends
Share This