poetry special

This is a dead wood its colour ash We walk through it holding conversation like hands…

Earth taught me to live with all, to outlive all, to evolve from season to season…

Cold islands of clouds float in the sky. The fire red horizon melts into the stream….

Red blood drips from the Sun’s wounds and flows from the horizon unto these silent shores….

1. The walls of your palace are made of snow. The game of reason is cold…

Butterflies are artists who fly around with paintings in both the hands They exhibited paintings to…

Sunday comes flying like lightning opening the golden doors of heaven on the wings of sunbeams….

A poem – Has a date with me.  When pain sleeps easy in my sinking pulse,…

  Nothing here’s worth a tick. I hid everything except the heads. They respect slaughter. They…