Nobody knows whenlove will roll in andwaltz with your crippledsoul.Nobody knows whenthe chickens will comehome, or when the dogwill have its day.I heard of a place wheresilence blossoms intoflowers of wisdom, butwhen I ask for directions,nobody knows.I taste the...

Where did the literarygiants write their masterpieces?Thoughts like this plagueme when my mind stews.I heard that Hemingwaystood to write.Did any of them write onthe toilet?Straining to shit..."Call me Ishmael"Could that have been the genesisfor Moby Dick?I like to write...

There are dayswhen the fatrain beats thetent like a snaredrum.Sleep is impossible,a distantmemory from youth.Beautiful flowers die,and green isn't quitegreen enough.It turns to olive brown,then black.People don't behaveand we can't make them.I hope there isrest when it's allsaid and...

Of all the literarydevices, my favoriteone is living.There's no substitute.As poets, we pull back thecurtain to our view of life.You can shape your craft asyou go.Metaphors will come allover the page.Your imagery will becomepencil-sharp and vivid.Be patient.If you don't...

Hope migrates tosunny island shores.There is no sorrow,roses always bloom,and the birds of paradisefly forever free.The salty oceancleanses the rotfrom the skinand the heart.