When I need inspiration he sits with me at night. Why others can not see him I just don’t think it’s right.   But he’s my quacky little turtle who helps me write away. When I can’t think of the perfect word I know I…

“Who are you playing with?” I’d ask my baby boy at play The answer that he gave me Blows my mind unto this day He’d look up with a smile, and “‘Nother me,” he’d say My jaw just hit the ground As he turned back…

Permission Denied ‘It’s better I just die,’ Brigitte Poirson Because I do not see a trace of you in your utterances, mother, I forgive you. Perhaps, your demon has found a way to mimic your voice, to agonize us – a way of holding our…

The voyage of life Is enmeshed in a puddle of stack realities The highs and the lows Like the pendulum Sways and swoons The graph goes up And swiftly glides down The journey is never straight Embellished with twists, twirls and turns… Like a jungle…

Old houses insist on patience Attention to repair Occasionally offering pieces Of their stories only To those who listen carefully   A burden or many lessons An old house keeps its secrets History passed intentionally with Creaks and sounds in the night That speak of…

One morning as a child I went into the forest alone I was drawn deeper and deeper by magical musical tones My feet were hurting and my legs started to cramp Then I finally came to a clearing where a host of Angels held camp…

Glasses   It’s funny how you can’t see the grease when you’re looking in the mirror but you see it when you’re looking out, trying to gaze at the world.

I was out walking late beneath the stars to soothe my brain so tightly wound I glimpsed a thing which gave me such a start and never had I heard such sounds   Footsteps shuffled, running in the clearing the woman must be some enchanter…

Seeing clearly now threat which never existed, Yet every waking moment imagined him to life, Blighting rendering loving fosters quite toxic, Composite being of unacknowledged edges, Emptiness inside of cavernous cracks in me, Fused together and breathed to worried life, Always that which I never…

Old Ms. Beth lives down the lane She rarely goes outside. (Something with her legs, I think?) I made her apple pie. I walked it over to her and noticed something queer: Her garden’s full and tidy Though I’ve seen no one here. I ask…