Writerquake

I want to wander there now In the land split by the hills Where sunset colors the valley And gloaming shades the mounds In the land...

So as to not disturb the silence from which this poem came I will whisper goodbye. No goodbyes to the space that will...

Today, five months after your death, two young deer surprised me in the yard at dawn. One trotted rhythmically across the lawn, but t...

This is me. I am the sea. I am pale as foam and blue, drenched by a river of tears flowing into me — From me waves of change ...

You see, I see you you mossy green god and god how I love you, you with trunks to spare and that wild white eye be...

We were meditators, Buddhists, and free spirits, we walked in the sand, danced in waves, sang fireside, worked side by side in happy...

That song has a familiar ring to it, a don't ever forget I can't-get- no-satisfaction, put-your-hand-in-the- hand-of-the-man-...

He is mine as sure as words give pause to sweet sighs. I love the softness of him I see in his eyes. He does not find fault in my ...

Create interests for yourself, a house becomes a cage when love goes. She said those words to a friend of a friend awhile ago, feeling s...

They lived there young in the old building. The sun was old but seemed new then too. It clearly knew the morning, dearly warmed the day,...

They were freshly-poured long before I strode upon their cobbles and cracks, but look down near the young Linden tree around t...

Old love letters uncovered, stacked and ribboned in trunks so musty they betray the lusty, sweet sentiments tucked tenderly insi...

  She had outgrown staged confines, slipping straps, cramping shoes, and tutu too. The Dance still pulsed through her like a musical...

We’re talkin' about a new resurrection— Proud kinfolk tout 'merican, not Briton. Waving our hands— Preaching exceptionalis...

The challenge, having begun three hours earlier, (that task being to go unplugged for one full day) invigorated many of those who de...

Late in the day she heaves a bulging bundle atop her head, dry grasses pulling at her scarf, tickling her scalp— the only massage...

A friend is having his birthday and messages for him abound at Facebook: kind thoughts, silly taunts, exotic shots, and brilliant videos m...

“Morning is the best!” chirps the early riser. Slurp..... Ah! the first  cup of coffee tastes just as fine to those who got up...

Ponytail by Last Exit A sweet circular society: "sisters" together handling an event in mock piety — the initiation candling...

When I was a wee one grownups could see butter when holding a dandelion bloom underneath my chin. I thought they were bloomin...