Poetry

The Typist Yesterdays ago when spouting words of wisdom, I managed to raise the vibrations all around me with…

The Quiet Room There wasn't a sound in the quiet room. There was no one around in the quiet room. As the…

The New America Injustices rising. People are crying and dying. We're saluting the American Dream.A…

Her name was Jenny Pickles, and when life was less intense, she'd share her peena budda jwelly samich

Such a Day I'd rather be up on the hillside, as the night mist rolls away, and watch the sky run into…

Life is a Ride Today Life is going to take you for a ride today Hopes it'll be a gentle and relaxing trip. The…

Ars Gratia Artis Off to the museum of art we go, with her in front, and me in tow. Absorb some culture! See…

Then in the night, the lonely night, the moon she comes, the moon she calls, and then like silvered teardrops

Even at the end Jesus reached out to us to preach and teach

Where the Willawikki flows, the lolo swim, and the gumgum grows, along the banks

Slumbering soundly like batten down shutters during wind driven summer downpour

The bethel babe christening and calling forth without words or verbal verbiage but, visionary entrustment’s

Bad morals lay heavy upon our land

The wispy willow like feathers we call clouds sprinkling the blue sky. airy breeze

My love and I went dancing, on the dark side of the moon, but there the light was