Coffee Shop Musings Early morning, sunrise calling the zombies rise and shamble to the local cafe to regain their lost humanity.
By Victoria L-B4 years ago in Poets
My Mountain It is exhausting to be told about the mountains I have made from mole-hills. Don't you see the pick and the spade I constantly keep
Coffee-Stained The coffee stains that have collected on our counters and table cloths tell the tale of mornings that span
Summer Days/Nights It was a Friday afternoon in June when you recieved the call. We knew it would come, and yet we dreamed the summer days would
Bird Calls Bird calls cackle in the spaces between the branches -- crying, wailing, laughing, sighing. Each twig that snaps underfoot rings out
The Summer of Snowflakes Snowflakes in summer Unexpectedly perfect Acceptably strange. Come forth from sorrow leave bitter isolation
Death Mask When you left us I was too young to remember your face. The years passed like shifting sand and I was able to
There is a door in the field behind my house The little girl down the street wanders over sometimes Her hair is a mess
The sun was high in the air light in the air sweat in the air as we walked to the park. The earth was green, grass was green