in between rays of light through wistful cotton within blood rushing through veins next to rivers lapping over stubborn stones among dimly lit rooms with bright eyes and colorful drawings on the walls along silhouettes of branches against navy skies from the pin pricks of light piercing through the black fabric which holds us through … Continue reading find it
pebbles on the shore smoothed and weathered. I want to know the waves and the wind that shaped you so I understand you better.
we are born and get a name for our story but we don't yet know how to put ink to paper so we cry shared stories ground reality(s) with yarns of memories and wishes we weave checkered quilts of ourselves and everything around us what will you leave behind on the pages?
https://youtu.be/nEbIuDuW7l8 Poetry is distilling raw emotions and ideas into old glass jars on a wooden shelf. Charles Bukowski was a raging alcoholic, but produced such a lucid body of work before passing. Perhaps in a world with a flawed sense of sanity, we need the in-sane. His philosophy that every sentence must pierce through to … Continue reading poetry by bukowski
soft breeze full moon gold specs of light in windows life happening do you feel it?
Who knew That all it took to capture feelings Was a card, an envelope And dry ink
sid gore 