I know, I know, my writing has been spotty (at best) for the last couple months. Ironically, this wordless patch … More
What I pull out may render sad or jolly; Too big for my britches?
The clouds always part
When will I see the sea
for what it is
and what it will always be?
For in the end,
Love Runs to Us,
And Refuses to Ever let Us go.
Whatever form that functions is the thing
That proffers wisdom, be it balm or sting.
wisps of potential
the sun’s rays,
which was recently warm.
Little things piled up. Thing which, under normal circumstances, would have rolled off my back, but they ALL. HAPPENED. AT. ONCE.
Snow falls and then melts
in our certain
A Sauvignon BlancNearing our parched lips and tonguesSlakes a long dryness
I see you… Rising above the cloudswhich obscurewhere your building began. You continue to riseIn spite of the clouds, And … More
The best kind of storm –
White, to blot out all the gray
The prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS) is: “let go.” Write about the first thing that comes to mind … More
It seems my friends have Sorrows fit to Drown;
They’ve just enough Pure Joy to stay Afloat.
Competing interests /
Often call for some losses /
Before both can win
We can’t always live In the daylight…
Some things remain
Away, aweigh, ’tis love which calls us forth;
The love which calls shall push us there as well.
When globe reveals what’s east, west, south or north
‘Tis heaven’s heat which rescues from cold hell.