The dog doesn't care for roses.
He prefers the apple tree and the fruit
from its branches.
Beauty from each will linger
in memory once the form of both
has disappeared.
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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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▼
2015
(328)
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▼
March
(24)
- Notebook Dump #18
- Notebook Dump #16
- Notebook Dump #15
- Are we so helpless? Are we more than this? Caught ...
- Salting the earth beneath our feet, The future gro...
- Even The Turkey Could Say Nothing
- Tidal Song
- Keeping Time
- All this boredom is mine.
- Hollow Rabbit
- Thrown Into The Water
- Sunset 3/23/15
- The Preacher
- Monsters Who Became Men
- postcard in the mail memories tied together we sti...
- Sleep whenever
- Something and Nothing
- Flowers & Fruit
- Ask if I love you Does the Sun long for the Moon ...
- Childhood
- Alone together in our solitude
- Encompass
- Real Lives
- How long must we live in these castles of our bor...
-
▼
March
(24)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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