I can only imagine the implications of furled trees and fortifications growing pollen bees surprising surreptitious and surmising pathways twisted born in air cradled cuddled coddled care. Weary bleary false conceptions — drawn out drowning death connections… How can the smallest thing grow out of hand? The truth uncouth: what lies? Unplanned. And if I […]Read More The Truth Hurts
I used to think that poetry was utterly the worst… every word I uttered dried my mouth a little more. Who cares about this line and that silly little verse? The sentences drone on in a continuous bore. But then I heard bold words emoting echoed truth – music strums drumming resonating voices. Storytellers upset […]Read More Poetry Sucks?
As the sun rose today, your son cheered hooray! Let’s laud our celebration of life! Love’s growing branches, in groves it advances within dawning to dusking light. The cycles of time (like meter from rhyme) repeat a watery flowing rhythm. Leaves fall through the breeze – composing soil for trees rooting nutrition within them. An […]Read More Landscaping