After years of being a closet writer, my poems started to tell me they wanted to get out more . I have a roving rambling heart myself so I completely understand . Happy travels .

Sunday, July 26, 2009


A whited silver moth
Beautied upon my screen
Like stout against the froth
The evening steep it seemed

This dainty faery fly
Like us women and our words
Was looked like flittering by
Just passing and unheard

But worms have wings 
Where porch lights bling
My soul still sings
As the loon song brings

From the wake, the tune
From the May, the June
Until comes so near
That frenetic fear
Of making it here

My father waits my mother debates
The time of my arrival
No pedal will brake me coming here
It's about my soul's survival
And gladly meet will hearts and wine
And words exchanged when I am fine
And cottage life is so sublime 
Like conversations with my mom

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