Category: Poetry

I am a compulsive liar and a saint,  below a bed of umber […]
I won’t mention the shadows that speak of war  or bones that ache  […]
I honestly have no words left to describe,  and yet describe I must.  […]
If you recall, we have met before;  somewhere between brittle earth etched  with […]
To the right was a thicket laden with berries;   mostly red but some […]
Celling of grey speaks in soft, dulcet tones   come listen; it recounts […]