Hating writing? But having felt great about writing? What is the secret? You just have to bleed into the page, no matter if it’s good or not good enough! Write like the ice rain in winter… tapping the window panes hard...

Passages of my childhood arise within my mother’s death gaze, bringing reminiscences of olden days. In childhood, we would speak in silent gaze. No mother left to envision me now, now within those quiet eyes. You have gone away oh, dear mother, let the...

You are,my heart, soul, and flower. My mirrored kin and spirit,yet looks and kisses unreturned. You are,the beating heart of my soul,still waves of unrequited lovecrash, pummeling my psyche.  You are,my flower whose petals never wilt - rather, bloom on my moonlight of...

Mirrors within your eyes… stare tranquilly in ice.  Those fog risen lids… stilled moments echoing.   Frozen they are… seasoning affection nowhere near to thaw tearcicles. 

Tears constant as April rains.