Learning and teaching the art of composition.

Perspectives on Life, the Universe and Everything. All my words are lost. I did get a kiss. You emboss on my lips. Would last me for years. Come, lie beside me. Your hand on my heart. My drive, my thirst. Of you and that smile.

British-Nigerian, doctor and wanna-be-writer who loves food and travels everywhere with her camera. Hi I have just nominated you for a small award given by blogging community to fellow bloggers. Thank you very much! .

On why poetry could save me. When I see my portrait. My thoughts now stray so far that my hands are always playing catch-up without ever catching up.

My dad, also known to the world as my father, is 80 today. Cape Cod, here we come! Here is a little birthday card I published a couple days ago. Some memories are of photographs and not the incident itself, but some feel to the rememberer like they are of a photo, with the details so clear and so accessible. There is one memory I could count the rocks in the creek bed if I would just take the time.

Never miss a chance to dance. Vote for My New eBook Topic! August 14, 2015. The topic receiving the most votes will be the topic of my new eBook. What kind of eBook will this be? When can I vote? Polls will remain open for 1 week.

You can learn a lot from Lydia. As clear as the crystalline waters of the Fijian islands of Mamanuca are, the American Midwest lake waters in which I chose to beget my spawn are murky. Hindsight begs no explanation as to why this sleepy lakeside community has become a breeding ground for malcontent porwigle.

Wind flowing strong, weaving round turns. Biting through coats, so cold it burns. A dark night rising, fog cloying like treacle. A soup to be lost in, hiding the steeple. Air rattles panes, disturbing my slumber.

Melismatic pauses along the spiritual path. 8220;This Advent, join Loyola Press for a special online Advent experience. Following a traditional Advent calendar format, the experience invites you to slow down this season and discover the quiet moments of Advent hope.

Poetry, art and soulful travel. I learned from my mother. Something borrowed, something blue. Our own kind of magical. Dancing in infinite Cerulean Blue. Pink lotus and wild elephants. Our own kind of magical. Dancing in infinite Cerulean Blue. A light story, Tokyo. Meet me on an empty bench.