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
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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
See how they walk To and from their breaking homes In this twilit town Where naked oaks Sketch the streets And a swirling of crows Settles in clumps On the high limbs Above the old folks home, Cataracts in its vacant eyes. One girl, collar to the cold Hurries home Under sudden streetlights Ushered now
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Annabel Lee It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a
Happy Birthday, Edgar Allan Poe Read More »
If you stare at a doorway long enough Someone might appear Who is not just passing through In the shuffle of it all But who means to be there Or who was sent And has a reason to stare Back at you Or beyond you Or straight through you. Filling void with vacancy This stranger