Yep you have to toot your own horn! TOOT TOOT!! Tell your own story, shout out from the hill top, try to make at…
Dispassionthat encompassesthe tears shedover a fallen petal, snow feathers over the bending blades,a turning over in bed.
A pantoum after Ram
Sometimes love stands invisible beside us. It holds our hand as others spurn us. When others scold and scorn us, love holds up an umbrella to protect us. It is always there for us to pick us off the floor, when others have torn and are now through with us. Love still waits silently by our side.
As I create a Medium profile and bring my writing into public view, I ask myself what I want my first piece to be. What do I want to share…
Swizzle sticks,Guitar picks,& things made out of plastic.
Here lies the fallen poet who could no longer create beauty with words, whose sentences lost the stardust that once wove syllables into magic spells.
Somewhere along the road, nature became just nature
The muse unaware
Why I write
The subject suggestive