I am in here.
bless the eastern edge of the sky as it rises from the night bless the light as I touch it bless the dark edges of the face before me between me and the sun bless that which I cannot see bless what the light keeps from me and bless its unseen watching
A child said, What is the grass? by Walt Whitman A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of … Continue reading A child said, What is the grass?
I kissed her ruby lips she crossed her legs and broke my glasses. (written by a friend, NOT by me!_
No, I don’t mean writing here. I’m not sure I can enunciate a reason for writing in a blog, much less daily as I seem to have been doing lately. But: why write poetry? Do I think I’m as good as the other poets out there? Well, yes I do. Except for maybe Seamus Heaney … Continue reading why to write?
white pebble 