Tick, tock; the echo of the clock the chiming, rhyming repetitiously against the hour it’s white elegant face, round and smooth, yet, counting away pleasures steadfastly. The clock reminds “never waste time,” The clock and its time will always be around looming, ticking and tocking, echoing.
There she is, there’s the girl Playing with her ball I pour the water out of the cup Quiet as a mouse enter the house So significant the blanket Remain quiet or a question ask? They will think I’m cocky if I ask Such a wistful beautiful girl Warm and safe from monsters under that…read more
A sonnet is truly too hard to write since there are so many styles and types. Make it with ten syllable or without? Octave, sestet, rhyme or not, I don’t know Be it inspiration by the gods or the great men: Shakespeare, Petrarch and Spencer, I will turn this struggle over and out until I…read more
Where are we going and whom are we calling? Talk over each other’s voices and yell through the window dirty like a child What city and what state? Whichever helps us lose the most weight What listings? More helpful than I thought, didn’t even need to pick up a book or ask a person- just…read more
When we first get behind the wheel, the herks and jerks of the car give us whiplash. This is the story of how I lost my voice, as one gets slapped when she says the wrong thing or drives the nail of truth into the house that contains the world. So we practice with excitement…read more
Open your mouth and inhale The freshly mowed grass dirt, soil It’s all clean A cool breeze and a tight squeeze Through the center of the earth Earth Set up and cast The smell of the lake When the fish is caught Touch the cool, rough scales before You throw it back. There’s still blood…read more
My search for truth is frustrated How often have you played the lyre? The role of the goddess changes until there is a heartless soul, then nothing – same song after song until even time is redundant so tuning you out becomes an impossible necessary for you’re the one who always plays the lyre