Author: admin

Delightful as autumn days draw near gradually as our earth mother transitions toned down palette that awakens us all is just in natures’ clock subtle diminishing beams bringing forth cooler nights cracking our window on the...

Simplicity of summer barefoot pace traversing moment by moment pathways zestful flavors scents Inhale deeply from your belly let it go slowly catch a whiff lean in tiny violet lilac bursts with their big earthy intoxicating...

The deciduous ones partially disrobe yet their equilibrium stays intact a blazing festival delighting our spectacles twinkling in a golden haze reds of crimson peach gleams amber reflected in glowing sunbeams a beauty that...

the birds competing with Vivaldi this crisp June morning how is it too cold on the patio today when yesterday was balmy even with a fleece jacket hot coffee, a blanket I retreat back inside I carry the cool of the morning...

when I am so lonely I can taste it in my dry mouth the universe brings rain to slake my thirst

hearing the rain start I head to the porch to welcome it home wind kicks up taking my breath away rain flies into my face, my arms my legs rubbing my skin dry-ish I settle in for a storm thunder in the distance bodes well as it...

I know you weren’t darkness – you were just trying to let darkness speak – In a world that only recognizes light, even when it’s false – Heartbreak, madness, vengeance, and loss – the places others fear to seek. For sadness and...

Because losing faith is like losing weight and none of your old credos fit and nobody knows who you are in that calico sackcloth? Because you don’t know what to say to your sister’s sanctimonious grin— Sister, forgive me, for I...

Science News, March 12, 2022 Don’t I know some quantum particles gotta get right back where they started. Take your old bod—the one that walked on four legs in morning, two at noon, three at night? Well, in your case, it’s...

no scum, no scullery, no gray sink or stale air, no dull odor of root rot, no bad taste lingering like froth on gristled soup, when the smallest cavity does not become a canyon in the mouth, and the one white fly does not foul...

“No one wants to read a poem about your dead grandmother,” the poet laureate preached. Well, my dead grandmothers wouldn’t want poetry written about them either—dead or alive. Their villages shattered, brothers and sisters...

I can speak without my voice. If I want to, I can use my mother tongue and still speak anguish, my second language. Our diaspora survived. Stumbled over deserts of death, stammered across waters. Spoke English haltingly. My...