Home is where the heart is But most days I feel heartless My home lies only within my body Its the only place I feel truly accepted Warm, confident, loved Every journey always leads me back To this place. I am the road most traveled…

The people that give the most are often the ones searching for meaning searching for some type of recognition Fulfillment in their lives I admire those people Who love without limits Whole-heartedly, givingly, sweetly But really there is no easy way to receive love back…

A Mother’s Lot Feeding everyone else first while her own food cools Keeping wakeful watch over sick babies in fitful sleep Wearing clothes with holes so teens can wear brand names Sitting in a backseat for a carsick child up front Sacrificing, scrimping, serving so…

Shhhhh, I’m reading. There’s a world playing out in my mind, While I sit stone-still, staring at arrangements of letters, That give birth to whole lifetimes. You can talk and laugh and walk around, But please, please keep it down.

A Firefly, one of the minutest insects If not for its light, Never! would you even notice its existence Similar to wasps, sans the light. Mesmerizing to look at, especially after a bout of rainshower Twinkling, lighting the dusk, the surroundings Miniature lamps in the…

Its now just morning what a beautiful day, The long night has finally gone away. I can see the sun coming up again, To greet me and meet me , to say Hello, friend! I’m so glad you’ve come again this new day, To hang out with…

if I jumped off of this balcony I wonder if I would land on my feet I can hear my knees give out now broken like cracked wooden panels If I don’t land at all I wonder if I beat my arms fast enough If…

Footsteps echo off the pavement Tapping rapport in the dark Shadows all in triplicate Criss-crossing over arc All the dogs have set to howling Sombre timbre to their bark In the air anticipation Of the stranger in the dark   Black as ink the bats…

Clearing space. Stacking stones by size in readiness. Largest near wall base, smaller further out and fillers (most important) in piles.   Marking batters. Ends defined with timber frames, sloped for strength. Base string pulled taught, between nailed markers, an ideal guide.   Choosing stones…

The sound of cicadas is the only thing that cuts through the silence. Maybe it means something. Maybe it doesn’t. All I know is this is a lonely hour and i anxiously await the moment when the rest of the world will rise.