9AM Post Writing from here today a bit strange The house is quiet I like this Had trouble with my CD player for music it’s working now Had trouble learning to post figured it out, I hope Already 40 minutes past the hour Wow, time…

II “Softly, softly now”, she whispered. Fragile voice, trembling hands- brushing against my cheek. Tender love on fingertips. Illuminated skin chasing off the shadows in pale blue light.  

and so it began like christmas morn anxious and excited i gather my thoughts my words wrapped up like little shiny gifts under wrap and foil and bows. here i sit…waiting patiently to be inspired.

“add-orexic” she was a straight-C math student who hated graphing fractions, in a flood of A’s and extracurricular until she started skipping lunch the excuse sounded something like the half an hour to do homework was more mandatory than the menu in two months she…

Hour 1 – 6:00 AM    What I have learned throughout the years. A Poet’s worst nightmare is living here. Where imagination is doubted and un-encouraged at best. Where we both know; you and I whats next That no test can determine the length of…

In a world of black and white, she was the color. By not her vivid beauty, yet by the smile, through her suffer. Poised in her position, authentic in her vision. Never altered by her ego, faithful to all her words written.        …

Smiling She wakes up at the crack of dawn to say Hello To the trees and the shining sun And when she is done You  see a brand new person Drinking her coffee Lighting her cig Keeping up with paces of New faces Because “Strangers…

I took a sip and let it go the time have come for me to know What lies in the core of my heart the thing which binds me from falling apart There were still many mountains to climb but sometimes I felt a little…

Morning has broken. School, rustling knees about the parquet floor, Scabs and mud and the rub of patent shoes. Togetherness- all gathered as one before the time we begun to question the world. The headmaster, with Welsh melodic tones, takes to the podium, like others…

Part 1 She was 4 when she became aware of carnage, devastation and brutality; she came in through the breezeway, the red brick linoleum was sticky, her grandmother was standing over the freshly cut sweet corn singing “Sweet Adeline” , the girl crossed from the…