Poems

Poem

This is my story.
It is mine alone because I am the one who needs
to tell it.
I am the one who is still here,
no longer stage right but

Poem

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

Poem

Toothless, she kisses
with fleshy lips
rounded, like mouth
of a bottle, all wet

She bruises your face
almost, with two
loving tree-root hands.

Poem

A plant called love
A plant called hate

I grew them both 
in my garden.
The plant called love was hard work.

Pages