The dark green of the jungle cloaks my presence Thick vegetation dampens the noise of my cries My surroundings hide me in fear of what I could do But I can’t move, my might suppressed by traps The King of the Jungle, how far below…

Although living in a cage, I am a bird; flying in my dreams. Mine is a story untold; I wish I was enough bold! In the question marks I believed, And in the doubts, I often dived. I imagined to come out of the cage,…

  My furry friend my faithful companion my playmate my guardian. You were always brave,  with those expressive eyes  you’d always manage to get your way. Even when caught red handed… Oh what simple pleasures satisfied you,  playing fetch, Taking long walks in Albert Park…

When Gracie cuddles up to me a fur ball of love is all I see. I refer to her as my therapy dog and people seem to play along. But it’s really not a joke to me. My Gracie is great therapy. There’s nothing wrong…

Suggested by and quoting selected words and phrases from “Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot. Some soft October night after we’ve wandered as far as you’ll allow yourself to be walked past sawdust restaurants, where straw arguments are dipped in tar and…

In my youth, there was sometimes beauty, a grace of form unmarred by lines, skin tight to the flesh and muscle well defined, hair curling and furled down to a waist a mere eighteen inches, spanned easily by the hands of the man who became…

In the wee hours of the night the standstill can be deafening The others on the way have the same work to keep up with knowing they are there, makes the final hour worth heading toward. Lonely in the quiet of the creative night  there…

The universe is infinite. And I am but a speck. So if I tip the scales a bit is there some balance I’ll upset? Or is it possible perhaps that if you gave me half a chance I’d disrupt the status quo and challenge what…

Why sing of love at this hour? When the big hand is at 4 All I desire is my nightly rest I’ve worked and walked all day Yet you stroll in early in the morn’ To sing of your painful suffering She doesn’t care for…

I’m not sick I feel fine I’m not sad I’m happy inside I’m not hated ‘fore i still love most I’m not lonely Even though I’m alone.