In the roots,
I find my past feeding from the present...
what is it with the waking hour?
words scampering to reach my page...
my heart may not have eyes and ears
but that is where I am at...
She was placed in an environment
where lost angels have gathered...
One day I found a poem,
It was sleeping in its bed...
The Lure
To a fish near a line, it is a thing of beauty...
I still feel like a child.
Maybe the universe isn’t so cruel...
The Bard stopped at Footscray
on the road to Ballarat...
Questions wrapped up
in a chrysalis became...
Sometimes I hoot and holler
And beat upon my chest...
When the tide changes,
The superior and subordinate switched sides...
If Roses grew in Heaven
They wouldn't bear no pain...