Fear
Silent slithering,
cold coils constrict my heart, a
. darting tongue murmurs.
Fear
Silent slithering,
cold coils constrict my heart, a
. darting tongue murmurs.
Rain persistently
pelts my window, while my thoughts
trickle and puddle.
Rusty wheels screech, then
slowly turn. Bad haiku still
constitutes a poem.
Here’s a link to my review in the Sacramento Book Review of Marie Ponsot’s excellent volume of poetry, Easy.
During the right seasons, my middle son often brings me flowers. Today is was a fistful of dandelions and a little lavender weed. He was delighted with his find, and his delight was contagious. I know it’s cliche, but I really do think we would all be better off if we could see the world through a child’s eyes now and again.
“Don’t ask what the world needs.
Ask what makes you come alive and go do it.
Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”
-Howard Thurman
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to write positive reviews. Furthermore, I only give my honest opinion
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