Twisted and knotted, standing tall against the sky, reaching toward the light.   Age paints its signs on the gnarled canvas of branches, time’s silent witness.   Despite years gone by, green leaves bud and bloom each spring, bringing youth again.

CW: Mild potential body horror throughout the poem Untitled   I don’t plan on having arthritic bones to dig up. No anthropologist will be able to answer if my hips belonged to a boy or a girl. Instead, my ribs will grow a tree. A…

WORDS OF LIFE   Sunflower, Sunflower in the yard; Why is poetry so friggin’ hard. Your beauty is inspiring . . . My thoughts perspiring . . . The sun itself has me charred!   Knitting is not something I do… It’s a gift given…

  sunflower peeping cheddar slice in pavement crack knitting oaks cast shade

When the moon rises high, like a celestial eye a voice rides upon the whipping wind, saying, “Let go, let go…change is coming. “Bend, bend…be like the wise Willow and not the stubborn Oak.” Before the witching hour, every heart and mind drifts to the…