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  • Poetry > All Poetry
    Before I sleep I think of you; it seems so many nights alone I've spent in bed that life is haunted by my darker dreams and most of them chose you to be the theme of tease and torment for my eyes that dread to close, asleep. I couldn't help it seems myself from losing you, a fate...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
    Listen: these are the observations of a daughter whose mother left her. This is what I see. I see my mother who was – and still is – an artist. She cut stone and carved marble, hoping to create something that would last. Three months after I was born, she left for Rome. She was not ready to l...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    What’s there to do when late are the hours? I’ll read aloud, smiling, and maybe dance Or, standing still with expressly closed eyes, Let the world pass by, let it stretch along— Observe as silence takes the place of words And wait ‘til the world is speckled with stars. This is what I...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    I stood there-- Feet cold and wet, Face frozen, Heart sniffly, sneezing-- tears endless. Close to me, under that flowering tree of inescapable Perfidy stood He, tall and gangly. "Why do you cry?" he asked, his red hair, wiry and wild, blazing, alight with attention. His eyes-- so Blue...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    Fumbling ineptly, love lost, love found, lost once more- sniffly, sneezing heart. Chimes jingle weakly as rich men whine and whimper and fishermen rise. Deceptive, jagged- O mankind in its heyday- hissing, jabbering....

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