Grey clouds hang heavily.
Rainfall approaches.
The day will be
what it will be.
Close the doors
and windows.
Sit down
and open
the book
to the page
you last read.
A new world waits.
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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
-
▼
2022
(201)
-
▼
August
(28)
- A Letter to Fred
- Seentience
- Will The Suffering Be Worth The Sacrifice
- Slow Dance at the End of the World
- That Which Persists
- New Continents in the Old World
- Humane Money
- The Poem
- Om
- We Sailors
- Rain Approaches
- Temple in the Jungle
- Choice
- the birds can hear methey turn and then fly awaysu...
- The Astronaut
- small reminder to you
- Endurance
- Runner
- Broken Compass
- For Kristen and Emily
- El Dios de Lluvia
- Humbled
- Kingdom
- From City to Forest
- In these days of endless winterI comfort myself th...
- Clenched Jaw
- Lungs
- Fall Approaches
-
▼
August
(28)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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