a wooden bowl forgotten on the patio and filled with rainwater reflects a crescent moon peeking between the limbs of sleepy pines. she leans in close to drink, her pockmarked face ... CONTINUED
more recent poems
Nothing New…
i. Without warning the sky can fall in neat needle-stitched rows, precisely ... CONTINUED
morning fog
morning fog hangs low over the trail as i run, the faint and familiar path leading ... CONTINUED
your wildflowers
i. no flowers linger by the garden gate after this ice-cold winter. my gloves ... CONTINUED
my manifesto
I prefer poems that are short and sharp, which flame and spark. Poems that dare to paint VIVID pictures or scenes for your mind’s eye. Unforgettable poems that have something to say, some reason for being. Poems which beat with a passionate, pure heart. Poems that reach for something beyond the mere sounds of words on a printed page (or computer screen). Welcome to my dream…