Category: Poetry

Here is where my deepest heart lies. These writings emanate from the many times when my passion hits the bottom and other times where it seems to fly on wings. To solace myself, I go to the woods on deep forest trails, pray to waterfalls, look over valleys, and dip my hands in the waters of springs, hoping to soothe myself. Forgive me if I get angry; for at times I’m just plain mad at the world.

The Waterfall (Portrait #6)

The train is always heard, cutting through waterfalls and springs. Only by standing close to the noise of water can the sound be heard. How does this waterfall speak? Each splash that ricochets off a rock looks the same as the one before. Each…

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The Collision Of Paragraphs

  The heated horizon Produces an allure. My eyes follow its linear line, moving with the melodic narrative– There are other voices—here Where hills make outlines. Harmony is horizontal– A dialogic freeway. It is the rain That stops streets And plays with the oil…

Laminate Is A Pervert

  Don’t snuggle with a rug Unless properly vacuumed And groomed Hardwoods are bit ornery but shine right up When waxed with love Hook Shag up with a van They’re meant for each other Indoor Outdoor likes it both ways Tiles are squares, most…

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Washcloths Are Scrubs

  A bath towel knows the raw and rude truth Which in most cases Is not a good thing A paper towel gets wet Easily. Then it’s all over In one or two short wipes A kitchen towel thinks they’re fancy schmancy But is…

Hands

  These lines in my Hands, Some say they can read them. Stories like hills speak through them A Dirt Embeds itself in my palms Deep inside the lines, I have rinsed with the coldest Water Over my opened Hand As more lines appear,…

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