Storing sand in a glass
Adding grains in
bit by bit from
the beach
Slowly
filling it up
Until one day
it can hold no more
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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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▼
2017
(526)
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▼
November
(43)
- I woke up with the melody in mind and the words we...
- Morning 11/29/17
- Not as young as we once were Not as old as we'll o...
- Your happiness is out there and you are living it...
- Characters and Settings
- Conflict
- Morning 11/26/17
- Mother, I Am Awake Within You
- Morning 11/25/17
- Locket
- The Past and Where the Idea Breaks
- Morning 11/21/17
- returning to shore
- te recuerdo
- From These Windows I Watch
- No Message
- Waiting
- If this is waking what is dreaming?
- Morning 11/17/17
- Waking There
- Kacie and Death
- flow
- crossings
- An Age of Miracles and Worry. Blue were the color...
- The Drive
- Earthbound
- Give All The Love That Is Yours To Give (Freewrite)
- only present
- The Fear
- I have been waiting for the sun I have been waitin...
- Morning 11/10/17
- morning 11/9/17
- sand
- Names of Beauty
- Lines and Freewrite 11/7/17
- morning 11/6/17
- On Happiness
- morning 11/4/17
- Second Hand Ghosts
- Morning 11/3/17
- Morning 11/2/17
- Dia de los Muertos
- On Mornings
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▼
November
(43)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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