closing my eyes i dream back to the time when stories made a part of my life told by my grandma before turning in for the night now all there’s left is the glaring silence of night not the best lullaby if you ask me.

Sip coffee Early morning breeze rippling through fir trees Scent of evergreen wafting through lifting fog Fresh cut logs piled high aside cabin wall A lakeside view Thoreau would envy Sip again from steaming mug, Watching last moonbeams fade into pink sunrise Birdsong punctuating the…

CHARLOTTE’S WEB   From the tips of her extremities She spun her web of lies Delicately interwoven With many lows and highs.   She lured them in so easily With her stunning looks and charm The lonely, sad and gullible Unprepared to face her harm….

And the slew of disappointing short form fob-off poems continues. But I’m still taking part and I’m enjoying my private life at the same time, so that’s all that matters. Finger and toe tips Pleasures crawling over skin Make me yours again

In a moonbeam night, smelling old books on my shelf, I want to feel a soothing coffee. From there I will rise, move like a lazy beauty, piercing the fog. And I will climb the fir, I’ll sing loud the canteen songs, which I sang…

I come home, the house dark and still. I eat my dinner and watch the news, wishing to discuss this crazy world. I read in bed, my cold feet wanting the warmth of yours. I turn out the light and say goodnight to you aloud,…

In the hush of the canteen surrounded by rarely seen fir trees along the concrete path to the university with hot coffee in my cold hands I make my way towards the fog and early morning classes.

The chill Fir tree shakes outside Giving a damn to the chill As a hollow chime reverberates from the dock Moonbeam gleams haughtily On the coffee table beside the shelf And the night fog rushes through With a hush Damping the concrete canteen wall  …

I stand in the light of moonbeam I slowly survey the dock My gaze it turns into the fog It sees the shadow of a concrete rock. I take a sip of my coffee From my battered, metal canteen I stealthily move beneath a fir…

Lyrical Toad wrote like a blues man, like the blues man he was… meter, rhyme, meter, rhyme… If you can’t dance the slow boogie woogie to the blues, it aint the blues. Years and years of his life… meter, rhyme, meter, rhyme. Caught in the…