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Thoughts beneath a gentled hand
repetitive as a rosary,
fingers picking petals from the throat
of a flower.
Sitting on the sidelines counting ..
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It wasn’t 1968,
the worst year in our nation’s history.
It was 1978 and one of the worst in mine...
The assassination and rebirth ..
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I was once married to you,
I sought that body of yours for solace
in the dark night of my soul;
clinging to your back in the darkness,
a roc..
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apathy and lethargy creep in and lay hold to our inspirations and accomplishments, strangling them with the cords of contentment. I'm not sure if its ..
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This is a little bit of prose I wrote a couple years ago when remembering my Mother on Memorial Day
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He nudged against me with remembered movements,
sliding himself unto my small frame
fitting perfectly into the familiar spaces
on my receptive..
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...this poem is whatever you want it to be, however it might speak to the "roadrunner in your skull of manholes and rain."
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nature is always revealing to us the mystery of life and death, faith and fear, the seasons of rest and of abundance. It is up to us to notice, to tak..
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sometimes very old memories mix like paint and spill on the canvas of today without our even realizing it. They just become a poem fashioned of the th..
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Nesting In The Niche
We reach out
we touch the silent leaves
hanging on the trees of one another’s lives.
We smell the flowers of hope, f..
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