Home lies that way, somewhere, through the fog,
Down a road I did not ask to be set upon
And most of whose forks were chosen for me
By others no less road-bound than I,
I - Quiet, please.
Creator at rest.
And on this Seventh Day I rest, or try.
I've drifted over Trafalgar's rotting hulls,
Seen dolphins play at the pillars of Hercules,
Been camel-ridden to the foot of Cheops
And walked the city Alexander took and named.
Storm clouds bleed and render earth to mud.
We lie inside, assaulted by the lies,
Tightly bound in gray dismality.
BA (English) - The Citadel.1974. Masters of Fine Arts (Creative Writing) - The Univ. of Dallas 1982.
My goal in writing poetry is to reveal small truths in the hope that occasionally something profound will come along for the ride. Few, if any, of my poems are as simple as they may first appear. If a word has two (or more) meanings, they m ...