A brief review of "The Shadow Line" by Joseph Conrad. Witticisms guaranteed.
 There's a cup'pa coffee on my desk and feelings screaming in my chest. They stay there, kept-under duress, They can't leave: it'd be a mess. Bukowski's bluebird, but a crow; no song here: only sorrow. ______________________________________________________________________  Have you heard a dream die? it starts with a linen-soft-whispered lie; a discordant-rain-drum touch; then the… Continue reading March Poems 
This is an excerpt from a novel I'm writing / working on. CH.1 In a little cafe, I sometimes sit and watch the rain play and the lazy birds lay on the oak tree branches. The morning, cold and fresh. The walk to the cafe isn’t too far. Five minutes, and it is always quiet… Continue reading Les Fleurs de Lune (CH.1)
 6.01.17 Today is warm and the birds outside my window hold their wings wide and swarm, to the shade of a tree. The field of a farm in its colors of gold-green grass, with heat vapors like foggy glass in the distance: a barn. Its silver-sheet metal facade, gleams sharply in the solitude of the… Continue reading Poems [AUGUST]
I Spring's bloom; Summer doth loom. After Summer, gloom; Autumn's to entomb. Golden-glow leaves; flower petal eaves. The shade of an angel, The imprint of the faithful. death is come; White winter; fall of Rome. II Your blood rose lips, Give me white rose love, Your hyacinth eyes, Lilac, lavender stars. You give me fire.… Continue reading Poems (May)
I had the pleasure of recently finding the time to finish reading this book. It was good. Not my usual cup of tea, but Woolf's unique writing style more than makes up for it. She has a way with words that can make even the most commonplace thing seem otherworldly. The book itself is nothing… Continue reading Mrs. Dalloway – Virginia Woolf.
light streams through my window; an old thought; a black widow – weaves webs inside my head. it makes me lead; scared to move, lest i regret more and more and more. those i've lost: never to see again. places i've been: never to visit again. my memory's fade; the point? we are to die.… Continue reading old dreams
A sunset breeze, dyed in ocean potpourri. I'm tentative, hesitant; you're confident, devil-may-care. The breeze whips your hair - that is brown like a mahogany chair. That's probably not the best association, but your hair is mousy - your eyes a bit too large. But you're gorgeous to me; a perfectly framed photograph. We kiss;… Continue reading