It is not singular that, as the daughter of two persons of distinguished literary celebrity, I should very early in life have thought of writing. As a child I scribbled; and my favourite pastime, during the hours given me for recreation, was to “write stories.” Still I had a dearer pleasure than this, which was […]
Mary Shelley: “my dreams were all my own” Read More »
No matter the degrees earned, the “culture” acquired My soul settles on a warm summer eve under the full moon Johnny Cash slides out of the radio into the night On a lonesome train whistle. No matter how far I roam, the roads to home are dusty Under a wild blue Colorado sky silhouetting Golden
SCENE I Dell is returning from a business trip and is shown tiredly walking to her car at Reagan National airport. She fumbles for her keys, unlocks the car, throws her suitcase in the back seat, collapses into the driver’s seat, shuts her door, then silence. Snow falls lightly outside her window. She starts the
I slip around the edges Touching briefly then slipping away. I dance around the edges Bowing to a partner or two then skipping away. I pace along the edges Sharing a fire or a meal then drifting away. I wander the edges of the world Watching just outside the fire’s light then walking away. ***
. . . the man was a walking treasure gallery. This wasn’t the work of a cheap carnival tattoo man with three colors and whiskey on his breath. This was the accomplishment of a living genius, vibrant, clear, and beautiful. – Ray Bradbury …the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. – Walt
Body Art — Is It Really? Read More »
Nature is a temple whose living colonnades Breathe forth a mystic speech in fitful sighs; Man wanders among the symbols in those glades Where all things watch him with familiar eyes. Like dwindling echoes gathered far away Into a deep and thronging unison Huge as the night or as the light of day, All scents