“My son too, ” he cries
“As are yours, is killed; gone.”
And tear pours like rain
And aloof he stands on the side,
...
Sexism
I write of man and wife
The past norm as it must,
...
Toronto’s guitar
Like the birds of Attar
My guitar
...
Specialization
Why is it Tuesday?
Why not call Jim, Nassy?
...
March chill
Dear chill of snow in the March
Come please; land and sit
...
How to write cold
Radio and TV, media
The papers, words of mouth
...
Our fate
Time will come that the Earth
Will be jar, which I have
...
Sun peaks through
Without no brain for ages
He claims. Demanding goes around
...
Treasure hunt
Hairbrush is black, plastic
On backside there's a name
...