First Flower
Flower budding
in the morning dew,
open those soft petals
for me.
It drips down by the drop
to the dirt below.
Show me
your face in bloom.
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It's always getting late.
When I am not writing this is what I do.
"In the present we are always in memory." - Trish Keenan
It's always getting late.
Introduction
This blog is a virtual notebook of writing that I maintain as often as I can. Poems, stray lines, random observations, all co-exist here. Revisions occur as needed/deemed fit.
See/Hear
A Chronological Archive of Joy and Heartache most often referred to as LIFE
-
▼
2009
(385)
-
▼
August
(34)
- Returning.
- Who We Are
- Phade
- Refusal
- The View From Atop Babel
- One By One
- Rooftop Fish Tacos
- needlessstress
- Width
- A Bouquet Of Dead Flowers For You
- Things We Do
- Reminders
- Extraordinarily Ordinary
- Terms and Conditions
- For Tyler
- A Brief Note On The Only Thing That Matters
- A Series Of Shorts
- Doldrums
- Mirrors Facing Mirrors
- Condition
- The Waking Life
- Familiar
- Keeping Constant Motion
- Everywhere You Go You Will Find This
- I Come To Thee
- Fred : "God loves you just the way you are."
- A Celebration Of Opposing Poles
- Holding Fate
- A Frog In The Bottom Of The Well
- Sailin' On
- Hacking through the lack.
- 47
- Nothing Happens All The Time
- All The Great Liars and Me
-
▼
August
(34)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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