Posts
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Through the Mesh
My back porch has become my friend
better than the rest.
It lets me sit in silence for a while, facing west.
here I see the sunset
and the weeping willow cry,
Here I am alone, myself. Where I can laugh or cry. -
Walls
I think I’ve hit a wall.
Maybe it’s a nice brick wall.
Because I am so tired of looking at everyone through a screen.
I think my hands have forgotten how rough a surface can be-
I only ever touch a smooth surfaces now. -
Covfefe Fefever
Covfefe.
You know…
That virus thing.
I can’t explain it- but its already big.
To make sure Covfefe does not spread,
There are some things you should do instead:
Wash your hands all the time with soapfefe- its great! -
Is that the Horizon?
I see the end in sight
Its dim but it is there-
A hazy mess of light
A question mark is there.
Please let the fog be lifted
From this banned that’s placed so long
Please have the questioned answered -
Snippets of life 2020
Quit procrastinating, there's still work to be done
Unleash the power of baking upon the world. When will the muffins be ready?
About time I was let in from the Zoom waiting room -
Colors of a Candel- A Pantoum
Stiching blue and purple light
In between a candle
Neddle hot with wax and fire
And colors burning gold.
Inbetween a candle
Are the secretes of the sky
And colors burning gold
are the whispers of the night
Loves
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Take my hand,
And let your other hold on to a kite that is a
Shooting Star.
The harvest moon will rise above us,
as we fly,
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The Lonely Beetle
The green lonely beetle tracked long through high rivers and the underpass.
By 6 pm it delivered a little girl with crooked cut bangs to a little tan house.
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They need to stop this awful theft
No money, no pay
And no were to lay
They steal our wages
Were locked up in cages
They need to stop this awful theft
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Behind the Crown: The Story of the L.A. Garment Workers
L.A., the golden city of dreams, where singers and actors come to achieve
L.A., the catwalk of fashion and style, all advertised with a Cheshire cat smile
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The Lonely Wanderer
As the sun sets, and the dusk sinks into the world just like any night, the lonely wanderer treks up his mountain, once again. Nobody knows who he is, or where he came from. He’s essentially a folk tale, a ghost story.
