Primarily for poetry and illustrations. Thursday, March 8, 2018. A 55 for JAJ after a long absence. Piano-forte, does it matter? And the keys push back. The keys hold the power. In the center lies the music, that sweet spot - freedom. 169; Gay Reiser Cannnon - 3-8-18. Monday, April 10, 2017. When Time Stops and Nothing Breathes. Near the fence, as the. Tuesday, April 5, 2016.

As I walk along in life, my muses dance with reflection inspiring me to release the thoughts and emotions of my pondering mind through poetry. Prompt Poetry and Promotion page for The River. Plus the archive of my older poetry. Saturday, October 15, 2011. All material unless otherwise stated. K - Keep Sakes and K - Kinetic Art.

From me, Arron Palmer, or A. Thursday, 7 July 2011. Clouds rolled in your eyes-. White over blue like two. Small planets in your sockets. I was an astronaut, finally,. You had your hands in pockets,. Mine, not yours, to draw. Me closer to your sighs. And the safety of the station;. Cables in arms, pressed palms,. Pulling this spaceman home, finally.

And written in the first. An open letter to Gwynedd County Council and Plaid Cymru. Charity begins at home? The Social networking micro-bubble. The government have completely lost the plot and forgotten about the single parent. A Personal Exploration of Self-Harm. I Have Been Her Kind. 2012-New Year, new outlook.

Dancing, Wildlife, And Creative Inspiration. Monday, 9 January 2017. Happy New Year 2017! Here we are again, how the years fly by! Time for another introspective, retrospective, New Year post, and the now-traditional picture of the London Fireworks. Apart from that, it will b.

The poems of knees, the photos of dreams. Drying roses in the elegiac dying rain. We knew the self would appear. At the edges, in words one at a time. Like a long winter on the shore of the world. It blurs at first, from fear and tearing,. But the depth casts outwards only those who will wake. For a single ripple, a vision made of touch and torch. Visages from warm memories kissing. When the clouds darken it is when they are ready. Pluck me for your altar;.