Visit
My grandfather’s hands are smooth, hard, polished stones. His once blue eyes now steel. Grandmother’s hair is the moon’s ashes, …
Previous articles
Loose Confidence
On difficult days I ask… Is it a dream, this milky sleepwalk from the sea? I used to believe in …
Another Lonely Paradise
To see the snake there I am amazed I do not have to kneel on the wet ground. If a …
Summer’s End
Our memories, once so sharp and short, now litter the landscape with the bones of our hopes. It is strange, …
In the Days of Rain and Roses
This is an older poem with brand spanking new title… There was this once before the writing dried up and …
The Lesson of Letting Go
We learned it is less interesting to know …
Just waitin’ for the cows to come home…
It is Late
The rain on the back of my neck reminds me to snap the yellow rubber coat. I think of the …
Poetry on the run 