My poems
like the moon...
A writer
pens a book...
My restaurant is upon a knoll,
which was used to be an ancient castle...
Be an Anchor
Let the firefly...
I am no one wandering through life,
Dealing with all it gives to me...
Here I am surrounded
by hallowed crowds...
Senility inches down a stapled tongue,
iron, incarnadine, affluent and young...
The sun does shine when there are no clouds in...
Yet whose to say that the sun does not shine as...
May be, I am this book on my lap?
The one I usually close to nap...
All these years, I hid between hays
like a needle awaiting to be found...
I played a game of cards with God on the day that...
And I couldn't win a single hand...
You know there's a real funny thing called family.
Those who have one should be wary...