Pull the rope.
Its frayed ends
gripped in your fists.
The knot tightens,
no more to give.
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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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2012
(436)
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August
(21)
- A Rising of No Consequence
- Worry
- The Eternal Season
- Don't paint yourself in Black and White.
- When 14 was 7.
- We are melting in place.
- 6:45 a.m.
- Dangling Carrots
- Rope
- Staring out the window and into the glare of a mi...
- Bringing a Bear to a knife fight.
- elemental
- Rock scraping against rusted iron.
- Faulty Navigation
- Summer Canines
- Two Way Mirror
- Wanting
- A Night at the Black Crow
- Won't / Will
- 10 Lines of Etc, etc...
- Finding beauty in my tears.
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▼
August
(21)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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