Type, write, place
Words upon the page in verse
Pour out a poem
From the soul, echo
...
There's not much to them
These winter skies
A strike of white breaks
Across the softened grey
...
It was in the late February
Or the early March I recall
Sitting perched on my windowsill
In the early hours nursing a coffee
...
You can spend a week or a month
Writing and rewriting, editing
Working through lines with a fine pen
Work and rework the ink over and over
...
What is this about
A force within many of us
Creating and denying sleep
The painter, musician, writer
...
Don't be elevator music
A background noise to life
Something heard but not listened to
Something that's there but never noticed
...
Sometimes I like to try
Curl into a bottle and hide
From those thoughts about me
Those thoughts which haunt
...
Loneliness is like an old friend
always there in the sleepless night
the distraction throughout the day
the over familiar and unwanted guest
...
The ocean stole the beaches memories
washed away the footprints and castles of children
beneath the full moon each wave came
rose up and down the beach
...