The Watcher….
The Watcher is a rather lengthy poem that offers the reader a mind’s-eye view into the thoughts of a person
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Poetry
Poetry is a genre of literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm.
Between the Darkness and the Dawn
Between the Darkness and the Dawn Somewhere between the darkness and the dawn, thoughts race like startled deer, surprised by
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Notions of the Esoteric
Esoteric notions…fodder for truth Some arcane notion swoops down like a bird of prey, and snaps up the living, tallons
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Lingered Kiss
Lingered Kiss How many times my eyes must speak, of promises
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Those Seeds of Doubt
The hindrance of doubt… Held to ransom by the doubts that seed my thoughts, and confusion often aches a heart
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The Vitriol of Intrusive Minds
I will reject intrusive minds… The closer one becomes to reality, the further away one senses one’s own state of
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Beyond Life, Beyond Dream, Beyond Time
Reality out of darkness, swirls, its movement as if deliberate, elusive, but my mind shreds it to the bone, fibers
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The Limits of Assuming Anything
Assuming is limitation… Fortune and misfortune are perilous beliefs, just undulations in the waves of aftermath our choices marking the
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Better Days from Sunsets Passed
Stretched between what a mind can imagine and what a mind can’t accept in reality, I fathom my path with
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Boxes All Around Us
Boxes, all shapes and sizes
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The Poet and His Muse
Like a bright, colorful butterfly, no one is as beautiful as you. Once again he was young and in love
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Our Last Night
Our Last Night … There was this girl – I would never forget and it all began in the summer
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The Golden Dream That Is Australia
Burgeoning cloud like rolling waves, tossed and streamed across the sky, laden with oceans rising mists to unleash upon
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A Heart That Rules
He sits upon his throne, his square jaw defiant and protruding, and from all he has sewn, must accept the
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What We Leave Behind – Emotional Baggage From Sudden Death
My finger lazily traces the lines of her face The worn photograph is beginning to show its age The coloration
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Beautiful Broken Woman – The Damage Done
She speaks of the past often Rarely smiles Reminiscing about times when things were better Her young face No longer
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Chicken Farmer
They called him a chicken farmer but he only had one chicken They called him a chicken farmer ’cause’ he
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Stoic in the Cause of Right
Were it not for peace, my inner state, words would fly like daggers, and I, each one would regret, as
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The Poet’s Sharing
Aspirations drip from laden quills, souls in quest of immortality, words so eloquent to last in thought, heart imbued with
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In the Aftermath of Life
Transient, these faces that haunt my dreams, wafting in and out of consciousness, like wisps of smoke, forming and disspating,
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The Old Cemetery
The Old Cemetery Once I went walking, in an old cemetery. Where my footsteps, echoed on the hallowed ground. Where
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In My Delight and Sorrow
In my Delight and sorrow, It’s your sincere face that I see, For it fosters the spirit of tranquility As
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All Blessed in Our Own Way
Knowledge is an insight into certain aspects of life, and often rejected by those who think they know, as we
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