I am collecting pieces of myself Scattered over years, miles, and memories. Shards of self abandoned and forgotten In the name of growing up. I am collecting pieces of myself. Patching together the things once beloved and left to rust On the shelf of my youth. I am collecting pieces of myself; Calling home parts […]
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
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. ***
She makes me remember Craft and magic, Art and artistry. I am again Creator and created – Changed by the words I write; Changing those who read These idle thoughts about a girl from long ago Grown into strength, wisdom, And warm wit. *** Tracy Linder considers herself the proverbial “Jack of all trades, Master of
Early September, the tail end of summer on the high plains. Cicadas and crickets sing in the cool night. Overhead the full moon does a strip tease through gauzy layers of cloud. The night is, in a word, magical. On the radio the plaintive lines of a Bob Seger tune help turn the driver’s eye