All Man-Made Roads Lead to a Dead End

Silence speaks to me in my artificial wanderings. Go out But when I do I roll in the grass, its warm prick inviting, the stiff soil and clouds respond and keep the sun in check. Nature produces a hope of its own, but in its wake, my conscience, does not want to be alone. “God, … Continue reading All Man-Made Roads Lead to a Dead End

Without a Drought

Prevailing the pesky weeds, this is poetry at arms: planting symbolic seeds in metaphorical farms. Greeting the soil as a grain, wishful words buried in thought remain mixed in rushing rain wondering what is wrought. Sprouting with flavor: a flower, and thus begins its descent of rhythmic glory and power and alliterative scent. Note: I … Continue reading Without a Drought