It was the seed, in the flower bed, that burst and let the small leaves spread, it grew a stalk, from the earth where it fed, when the sun came out, it raised it’s head.

Just delicate needles, the light, in an endless night. Never doubt that the Sower is just; despite the young rain of tears, so delicate, that fall on the thistle head’s drowsing needles. When pricked, slowly bend your hands away like the Sunflower or the chrysanthemum…

This is a “Golden Shovel”. My line is the first from Robert Louis Stevenson’s My Shadow,”I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me.” it was just the other day when I walked into town with a craving to have a big…

  Using lines from The Prayer That is In My Blood by Gary Copeland Lilley   When he finally arrives at the pearly gates my, my, he‘s gonna bribe St. Peter with a Five. If the saint doesn’t take his five dollars, or his word,…

Lovely is she Where’er she walks Kindly entering in Bringing stars of beauty, As none I love the like How without— the air to breathe Or day were only night For the better lacking of Nights as all but cloudless Or days in northern climes…

I assume we all yearn for something different at different times in our lives the same lessons displayed differently different lessons displaying similarly with the same goal in mind to get through this stage of humanness in life, we are born to die and we…

Consider the animals The orangutan Languid and endangered Consider the cat Fiend, esoteric Bougeouise Consider the eel, And the ones who study the eel And if they get along Most importantly Consider the owl HOOT HOOT And there you are

No Offense, But… It’s not that I don’t value your opinion, even as it assaults me when I am defenseless. I just wish you would dull the sharpness of your tongue and listen when I speak.

  I Wonder Where?   I wonder where it is I can go to see the people I hear wailing? Being of different cultures veils them from me like a wall.   They may think I don’t care for them at all. But the hearts…

“ … later she sat there in her slip / drinking Old Grandad / and she said / what’s a guy like you doing / living in a dump like this?” by Charles Bukowski   After you wrote on a slip of paper, we took…