Scribing thoughts in pale candlelight
shadows dancing across the page
passionate dark mysteries unraveling
Is it my muse or my wise old sage?
Being left-handed, I worked hard at writing well.
A memory: First grade, a substitute teacher for the day. A regular elementary school in Houston, Texas. But that day I learned I was a spawn of the devil because I wrote with my left hand. The sub slapped my knuckles with a ruler each time I picked up the pencil.
Terrified, I had no idea what I was doing wrong. Continue reading
To this resting place
erratic journeys taken
An anguished soul writes
with a hunger, wanting love
Alone with my words
a palette of memories Continue reading
And thus by fate I’m empowered,
Living an humble life pondering
The glorious splendor of the flower
As under the moonlight I’m sauntering.
stain on white paper Continue reading