#Ideastory: Poetry
Poetry,
comes rolling out of my pursed lips,
like smoke curling under the door.Somebody’s going to get burnt soon.
Similar Posts
Ideart: Good Karma, Bad Medicine
A few days earlier I had a thought. The words Good karma, bad medicine just formed themselves in my head. I can’t quite explain the thought. It was one of those ideas that just showed itself and vanished before I fully explore it further. It still sounded interesting. I put…
Light Viewing: February in the City – Part II
She says the city doesn’t look quite real to her. So many people. Nobody knows anyone else.
Sieve
My heart is a sieve. Shot with tiny holes.
The Old Mill
More intelligent minds than mineHave spokenEverything of consequence saidNow I speak my unimportant bit Never saw the sky this blueBroken shells hint at the ideaOf something that wasAnd has passedLike time whispering Footprints on sandJust before the tide washes inAren’t uglyNeither is the old mill. If you liked this post,…