“Accidents don’t happen to people who take accidents as a personal insult,”–The Godfather, Mario Puzo What would it be like to live out this line? To treat; Every mishap, Every sling; Every arrow of misfortune; As an insult deserving of redress? Would there be fewer insults?…

Memories of the seaside brought by London rain memories of Greece fixed by architecture and words of ancient Greek origin in the English language even a newspaper is an ephsmeral every story every novel every life to Graham Swift

eee eeeee cummings?? (how so?) sometimes when i look into your eyes… (how could i have thought they were blue when they are so very, very green?) …or listen to the slide of your voice… …or feel the touch of your hand on my shoulder……

If I could escape like Spaceman Spiff. If I could fly like Stupendous Man. Imagine myself into someone I can stand. Bill Watterson, you made it look so easy.

That fearless intangible time Stealing my life Grabbing one moment then another and another Graying my hair forcing my body into new contortions Spinning me into complacency Tempting me with ecstasy Promising me minutes That turn into seconds That flip into decades Life happens Corkscrews and…

The twilight sun has come and gone, without the rise of the new moon. The birds sing frantically, but the light is far from reaching them. Their panicked twitters and caws echo between buildings, but not to any human ears. That species that is the…

Once way after midnight, my eyes were blurry. I pondered about how weak and weary I had become from A Poetry marathon. Edgar, my dear literary friend, it’s well past the Witching hour, and that’s all I got.

I wish to thank the war horse That is this body. She does what I ask her to do. She runs headlong into battles, Bearing up against whatever onslaught Into which I would dare urge her. She will act in direct defiance Of all her…

Remember the beginning Every day was gold Moments shared together Every second – prized Making time was easy Because we were worth it Each day passes swiftly Realize that tomorrow may be too late   by Karen Sullivan Form: Acrostic

Poem 21 – The Power of Five Five was the number Anthony Horowitz imagined Not to be put to slumber With their gifts and abilities The world they would protect And when they met Their minds they would connect Five children lived before And now…