The only thing worth writing about is the human heart in conflict with itself. If calm were a color, it would rest on the leaves of autumn, like a gold spectacle. Then she would come, bearing her blessings, wearing a crown like frost settling. Like grass bending, bowing under her heel, naked as all life becomes real. The wind may be beautiful my dear.

We Are The Ones We Have Been Waiting For. INDIGENOUS PEOPLES RELEASE JOINT STATEMENT.

Stirrings Stemming from Poetry Art Love.

Writing is better than not writing, and reading beats it all. and Dorothy was back in Kanzas. First there were the munchkins. They released me after a few days. All in the name of academic progress. Then we are spat out of the machine and have to try to remember what we were busy with before it all happened.

Somebody called her an artist. Somebody called her a writer. But she was a visionary who. Painted life with her pen. The diary was her canvas. And her brush strokes were. Neat and deep, deep buried. In her eyes, like the shells in the sand. Her mind was a beach of thoughts. That visioned the sky as a bird. From the herd of people,. In her womb just like a pearl in the sea. The only pearl with the shine. And lust created by her own hands. Of stale and flaccid coat.

One syllable at a time! I Miss You Folks Already! June 2, 2015. Hello Good Blog People,. Share, if you wish to share. Too high to reach today. Share, if you wish to share. But, But, Butt. Share, if you wish to share. Humor is a mysterious word. Humour with U should not cause a bird.

To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all. Loneliness strikes us all at the oddest time. I caressed a rose in the garden today. My heart clenched like back then, startled by the chime. When I saw you holding my first bouquet. Our lives always felt like they turned on a dime. But then harsh realities pulled us astray. Tears rolled down my face as one memory hit. Home, so long ago I hate to admit it.

How To Kill a Poet. The Hill of Lonely Trees. On How To Kill a Poet. On How To Kill a Poet. On How To Kill a Poet. Follow Ergo, Ego on WordPress. Not if I change my ways and confess my sin. My demons lurk forever just beneath the skin. Just let me drown and thank God I cannot swim. Now look at the mess you made.