Poems

Poem

I am the word juggler.
I juggle the words
like swords.
I slice sense
with poetic license.

Poem

Newly baked and fresh today
Eat while hot or take away.

Poem

Spring is baby,
bright, fresh and new,
gurgling with the melting snow,
singing with the first cuckoo.

Poem

Thomas Farynor, Baker to the King,
Left his oven burning with the firewood nearby.
The embers muttered, the little flames took wing

Poem

The light through the blind is a poem,

the way it illuminates air.

And the shadows that fall

on the floor and the wall

are signs that a poem is there.