She reads a lot. In buses and in trains, in bed and on the couch, while eating and even walking, at all the times of day and night. Another – writes, restlessly, especially at night. Both prose and poetry, in all their forms. Prefers the…

Maybe tomorrow birds will sing and flowers dance to the words of a god speaking light and truth, but today it’s dark –and raining.

Lost in the mist Burried within the fog Drowning in a pool of our emotions So you can’t find me And I can’t even be mad at you because how can you find what you can’t see Atleast that’s what you told  me Contradiction Love…

my birthday stands before me her finger crooked, beckoning me but to where? feet planted, but still I race forward   vision impaired, or perhaps never clearer, I see years gone by, a blur of light and dark, mostly dark some stop to remind me…

Eden’s Labor   Glaring at the rusty clock, measuring minutes between her contractions with such a fragile hand she wrote them. Her pain would be no more.   Groping into the dark of night, beginning the thirtieth hour. no warrior could fathom such a strength…

I could not hold my tongue or watch my mouth. The temptation was too great! I could not be still as a house or quiet as a mouse. Because I was five, or ten, or thirty I could not think before I acted or use…

Greetings, fellow poets and/or poets-to-be!  Due to time constraints (i.e. Needing to share my introductory post within the next 20 minutes before the marathon officially starts)!  I’ve essentially copied/pasted my profile bio here, as I think I wrote too much in it for a short…

I’ve banked palaces of love and great disaster on thrones of worry.  

There are pictures in the pictures of my past; I grab them with my head.

All the sights are glass—- all the sights are black and white when I feel fine.