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Treading the less traveled paths, freeing the shackles and binds, Striving to free the soul, in the span of this lifetime. My words in a flow. My pieces in a whole. That has me in its hold. To fill the void inside. And find myself a home. If they do, always in staggered form. Let the flow take me to places.

And here below is a link to the Archive. The youngest poet and the oldest in Poetry International 1973. They are here like us at Queribus. And at Peyrepertuse, fiddling with their. Camera batteries, dragging their red setters. Up congested spirals onto views. When they meet each other unexpectedly. Lose their fizz in about five seconds flat.

Of daydreams, new dawns. Give me a sunrise,. Give me a sunrise,. Our hope will shine through. Our hope will shine through. Our dreams will come true. This entry was posted on July 12, 2015, in Poetry and creative writing. This is another simple little tip. Simply treat yourself to a little bit of pampering from someone else.

Sometimes we all like to run. I am here to vent artistically. Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email. Another heartwarming letter to Miss. Yesterday saw the death anniversary of Sylvia Plath. I will never forget when I first discovered her poetry.

On the Existence of Ghosts. The night my grandfather died. I was 3000 miles away,. But I felt his hand on my shoulder. When he told me goodbye in a dream. The voice of an extinguished ember,. Sings grief for the flame. Because its scent still lingers. Entire oceans drain away,. But there are still rivulets of sea foam and bones. The negative of where the shore used to be. There are only footprints now.