Hour Eighteen: Haunting This library book must be long overdue, because I remember when you took it out years ago, Too ashamed to take it back? I’ll carry it for you. No? Why not? Don’t touch it?Don’t open it, don’t look in its center. Well…

Hour Eighteen – Text Prompt Write a poem about a haunting, real, or imagined, detailed or abstract. Image Prompt – Ravens and Crows   You always know, when you see a crow Of the powers that they own For those who die, are unable to…

Sounds of laughter come out through my voice. They are not always my own. My silvery hair seems to hang in such a way That our resemblance is uncanny. I’ve felt her presence Since she’s been gone. I’ve seen it my entire life. Others notice…

We keep talking about this and I understand where you’re coming from, but sometimes there’s something to be said for nostalgia simply for Nostalgia’s sake – it’s been way too long since we’ve had a 2am phone call, since the tweety bird lighter got magically…

Warfare: After Diana Khoi Nguyen   Amidst the deafening noise of war, there’s a faint sound, you catch a glimpse of a familiar face you once cherished.   When you witness countless soldiers who can’t speak anymore, there’s a melody in the midst of utter…

The juicer whirrs as I hum. Nothing in particular sits in my head. I throw another chunk of beet into the blender. Confirming from the recipe book, I add some cinnamon The juice whirrs up to the top, red foamy juice splashes on my pink…

Daiku= Haiku form with a Diane twist 1 Colors never bore Shifting and filtering life People never bore. 2 Learn to accept me Attitudes are so complex Hey, try filtering! 3 Lessons are ageless. Life teaches us so much more Shift without warning. 4 Begin…

You have always had this way about you of being perfect and incredible and record breaking in your own right but never lasted longer than a few minutes especially if there was rain on the horizon.   Paper airplane wishes – the prize flower –…

Summer colors mixed with winter lights swirling apexmesmerizing vortex of mirrors held to the child’s eye as he slowly turns it so the colors fold themselves in on unending varieties of patterns of wonderment.

Remember when we would go to the nursing home and glue puzzles together and trade books worn out and weighed down with the annotations of literal generations – we painted sunflowers and lilies for each room with a little old lady lacking family or support. We…