Jonathan Ballam > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

her shoulders are the scaffolding we use to build paper pyramids

kill the commercial white noise

tread softly for you tread on my dreams - W.B. Yeats

ghosts are only the bones we choose to play with at night

jacket is too big and his smile too generous

you may start to learn to focus a pair of jittery eyes on the lonely horizon

this morning he sat on his bed and watched the blister events whirl

poem written right after washing the dishes

those voices sucked up their cold hands

it was Christmas morning...