Inside Storybooks Vertical Lines are never boring they lead to magical staircases and porcelain vases creating a whimsical vibe of drifting imaginations bouncing up winding staircases to new world

Lightbulb Ideas flash I hear the beat of the streat underground like a beet The tremor of bass beneath my feet I carry the jacket of jackin and packin shelltoes, cellphones, elcos, elbows, hellnos melrose, eggrolls deathrows. Rolling in buckets a box full of fuckets…

    Every workday, it’s a flop showtime Feels like frustration, looks like I’m in exam hall Reviewing content, Grading expert’s view But they confuse and remove my brain fuse. The auditor audits me with stern remarks Point out my mishaps, and slaps with his…

My profession, which one? the official one? or on the side ones? I worked as professor of electrical engineering for 38 years. I just read some books, memorized them and told what I had memorized to students in my class. Tough job? mathematics, science, construction…

Leaves sweep down from trees, covering the ground below, creating piles of mingled colors. Oranges, browns, and red become a beautiful palette for the beginning of Fall’s artistry. Shortened days give way to crisp, cooler air, making jackets and sweaters come out from closets. Coffee,…

Still about eight poems behind but I’m enjoying this creative process of quick writes to catch up.   Hour 3   Every library I have ever been in Has held more love than any other holy place Each book asking to be cared about And…

Image Courtesy of Pixabay   In the world of freelance, we wage a wordy war, With laptops as our weapons, we’re battling galore, From coffee shops to couches, our offices on the roam, We’re the sultans of syntax, in our linguistic home.   With deadlines…

Life in Special Education as a Teacher Aide can only be described as expect the unexpected. It is what happens everyday no day is ever the same. Kids with special needs, Autism, Down Syndrome and other multiple disabilities are one word unpredictable. Shoes will fly…

I have lived in a few houses where my wife and i each had a walk-in closet, but here in my favorite house we share a closet. My wife died four months ago, so I no longer share a closet with her; but I still…

the poem is not the emotion, the dark mouth swallowing your yolk-burst heart, it is not the icy tongue around your neck. it is a remnant. we write it down dumbly the same way we worship a god who one day will destroy us with…