Here, above all, I stand Taller than anyone else in the land My feet nestled in the rock Looking down comes as quite a shock For what I see is endless clouds

a really bad poem. i write these a lot... it still is...dear me ...

One day I will go to Northern Ostrobothnia, And celebrate the feast of St Jude, The patron saint of lost causes. I found it on a map of Finnish administrative authorities,

The shimmering sun on the horizon Yellow primroses sprouting up Golden daffodils holding up their trumpet heads White snow drops bell shaped hanging down so delicate

Oh! The lights from the cars that flash along Miss the beauty of nature’s countryside “Jazz” “Green Eyes” poem as read in quite a few venues an amazing cat a comfort to me and all

I use big words to hide the talent that I do not have I masquerade with metaphors that have no real meaning My verse and rhymes are of nugatory value

London times c1965ish?

I miss you every single day And wonder what you’d have to say About my life and all I’ve done The friends I have the heart I won I wish I’d cherished more the time

A kind of longing in the air today.

Prologue The pain showing in her face was something he had never wished to see. Her hands were clammy and cold, almost lifeless. He had always heard the saying that 'life is just a series of rooms', and what really shaped your future were the people you got stuck inside of those rooms with. This cold delivery room had now become their personal hell, this singular room that would shape their future and send it on some downward spiral neither of them could control.