The pieces scattered Mid dream Connections worn Repair unlikely The grass is greener I could jump – but the nothingness is vast I will stay The alternative is unimaginable My life is here – linear  

MY MORNING WALK Cool breeze Flowers and leaves falling from the trees. The weather is perfect, I wear my designer shoes and track pants. Set out for my walk. I walk rhythmically to the sound of the cawing crows, Till the sound of a random…

I am trapped in life And can’t wait to try it myself I let the pain waft around me When I started dreaming   Indulged in fantasies From distant worlds and secret places As I pull out my pen Plan my wishes and thoughts  …

    It took too long to get here We are tired and thirsty We had heard all the stories and felt the hype That the earth is actually flat and responded “Yeah, right” Now here we are close to the edge Wondering what happens…

Cherry Trees   Papaw Kidd’s branches sway with each tickle of the wind. Look at big they are, Mamaw gasps, eyes hugging the trunks grown green with moss. Aunt Vivy nods, If only we could still climb. Shade covers the lawn as leaves and blossoms…

There was never a dull moment with you You left a trail of magic everywhere you went You held a joy so powerful you couldn’t help but share it with everyone you saw But now you’re gone And I don’t think the world will ever…

I never got into it that much truth be told. It’s all subjective anyway. Some aren’t even trying, just splash a bucket of mixed-up paints onto a canvas & call it a day.   But the ones with actual aptitude keep it alive; their passion…

cw: none The problem is, of course: the canary is a metaphor. It is not a real thing, it is illusion, and it rankles at the fact that it is not real. It is a tool, a device, a thing to be used – even…

(NOTE: I did not like the prompt given, so I wrote something different. It still needs a lot of work.)   Rejection   I All life is a rejection of what went before. We must grow and change. To stand still in one place is…

Duke is here. Head hanging over the edge of his bed not mine, ever. I have books piled around him. He is fine with that. Earlier he was on a pillow. Lodged beneath a clean shirt. Before that he watched his dude type his own…