Nothing to say.Too much to say.Pen to paper isLike a glass to my mouth. Sometimes I don’t realizeHow thirsty I amUntil water touches my tongue.I drink Liquid spills all over.I don’t careI’ll clean it up later.The water refreshes My throatBanishing drynessIgniting a voice. My voice. Photo courtesy of Silviarita from Pixabay

I put feet to pavement.Rivulets of melted snowcascade in the gulley.I run at its paceadmiring the claritybeauty, and purityof the water.we both proceed swiftlyin the same direction. Motivation is fickle.Clear, blue skies lureme outside for a run.I crave sunshine and grapesI run toward Springbut the snow meltsaway from it.Still, we run in the same direction ...

I’ve no one to blameI supposebut myself.Isn’t that what they say?It’s my fault.I made the choicesI face the consequences. So this is how it goesI choose not to reach outbecause my hand wassummarily ignoredslapped awayand shushed.Weariness won, so Iretracted my hand. So this is how it goespieces of my life swirlinglike snow dusteach different, uniqueeach ...

What wretchedness ‘Tis to be born the wrong sex ‘Specially, so if one’s royalty and that’s what befell Queen Mary of Scotland just a wee lass crowned at six months old harried over the border to her betrothed Francis petted and pampered beautiful Queen of France. Though the fates would deny this union of happy ...

Fingertips of day are losing their grip. Pink horizons darken the sound of a saxophone fades. Stars poke through the black curtain like pinholes in the fabric of time, the moon hovers benign and besmirched its surface pocked and shaded.   Silence is golden.   But there will be no riches tonight screeching interrupts my ...

Sugar plum fairies dancing in glittery lights. Flickering little sprites with fresh green holly adorning silvery hair Circle ’round the Yule log flames Filling this silent night with music, oh so merry and bright as the scent of hot spiced cider warming the frosty air the Wassail cup passes with cheer So splendid a sight ...

As the sun began to bleed  At dusk and the birds Gathered for the evening chorus, I began to wonder if this was A dream.   Your hands were so small, Your eyes never got to see  Pinks and reds of dawn,  Let alone this sunset, or a Full moon.   I had waited so ...

What are your hands really for? What are a pair of hands true purpose? My hands are there to hold you at your weakest; to hold you at your strongest. Turn my palms into cups so that they catch the tears you shed.    My fingers will act as ties to keep you from going ...

the end is near and yet we can see the line i wonder, do you hear? the whispers so fine softly the thickness coats the town fluffy and white in all its glory in the coldness we drown waiting for the ending of the story it’s supposed to be a special time of peace, quiet, ...