one particular poet speaks my words she resonates in my consciousness I carry her thoughts as one with mine Sylvia Plath’s Colossus is me, not her father as one might think fragmented like puzzle parts, my mind has also tumbled down I hear this constant…

Here is the place in the in between Where hardened trees guard the softness of hearts Where moonlight traces a satin screen And time casts its questioning shadow   Here is the place in the in between Where feelings pause in the dew of dampened…

         War I.   I peel the night from its mothers skin: darkness,  barricade my mouth with smoke like letting Letting euphoria-filled bodies fall into A synchronous rest-sleep —slip into reality — I, prayers by the mouth of a wound. I, Wound by the mouth…

Picture prompt; September   If I could stay here and make this crossroads my home I would. Before decisions delineate paths and fate separates from its course.   It could be cosy in these woods in the middle of nowhere between here and there the…

The sun has set And so work begins… In the middle of nowhere I spend my time I greet strangers like friends I know a few passers-by Apart from greetings, I am mostly alone I eat my lunch in silence As the night goes on…

one particular poet speaks my words she resonates in my consciousness I carry her thoughts as one with mine Sylvia Plath’s Colossus is me, not her father as one might think fragmented like puzzle parts, my mind has also tumbled down I hear this constant…

Grey Morning After Diana Khoi Nguyen Pale spots on the bronze locket. Decaying lace melts into our fingers. There – on the wall – a key. What could it unlock? In the strange room, we played strings on a broken harp. This is how she…

the awareness of that mighty struggle bats and Characidae   all bearing fruit like pomegranate seeds in blood-like vigilant deeds   fruit-bearing fruit carcinoma unfolding creations gift  beholding   obstacles rising from man’s industrious spew credit where credit is not due   tied and strangled…

America: The Fixer-Upper This is how the world found mid-twentieth-century my lost America: Divided by strife, disillusioned, bereft– not the world’s best hope! Reaching for the stars, yet mired, unwanted in an un-glorious war. Yet hope did emerge from the youths’ idealism about what might…

The Past A Cloak (After Diana Khoi Nguyen) Tatters of recollections Warmed us during cold nights, Pulled close, the past Draped around us as a cloak. Shuffling forward inch by inch, Into an unknown future, No time to look back, No chance to change our…