when thought and hands become a seamless
mechanism of expression.
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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
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▼
2010
(584)
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▼
November
(55)
- Bird Song
- Goddess
- The Children We Were, Are.
- rage
- Don't always wear your heart on your sleeve, it's ...
- Someday Your Prince Will Come
- Clever Fucker
- ideal
- Fractal Inspiration
- Her Arrival
- Todays Afternoon Fiction Romance
- Red Lion
- Archaeologist
- Midnight Passage
- King Wild Heart
- The Darkness at the Edge of the Light
- If we were young forever we would never learn from...
- The Great Deceiver
- Unexpected Guests
- Speak Easy
- remember to throw it away
- Boris
- Re: Lunch Poems
- nothing
- Anonymous Ghost
- where it happens
- a normal love
- My Opinion On Religion & Politics
- Only One Thing Left to Give
- Maple
- On Writing
- the body at rest
- Love Poem
- Problems Of The Civilized World
- MVMT
- What Did The Universe Do To Deserve This?
- Your eyes are gleaming with the same dreaming we a...
- That Which The Prophets Heard
- estrangement
- Her
- seeing you
- Varnish
- proof
- Red Rivers
- A Vision Of The End
- The Return Of...
- Pigs, Wolves & Sheep
- expulsion from the throat
- When
- for the snails of the world
- Endless Onion
- The Prince
- what's been lost / what still remains
- shadoeye
- mid day dream (1 of 4 short pieces for _._. )
-
▼
November
(55)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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