Poetry Boundaries. If lines could be drawn and walls could be built, I’d be the chief of my thoughts and the queen of my feelings.
Berlin A month of shadows I slacked and moped around, whined about being creatively blocked, and emotionally drained. June was a month of shadows.
Dream Trance Slipping between random movements of my eyelids, I pause to breathe. My breath rises and falls; it chases the film that unfolds. I’m a witness.
Poetry Skies of yore The sun bursts into a million flames, painting the sky with its richness of light ochers, bright yellows and burnt siennas.
Berlin Thursday I breathed fire. I revered the sun. I wore my passion in my heart, and swore my life to my art. I danced to the tune of cackling embers.
Poetry Dripping daffodils What are daffodils? How do they look, or where do they grow? and how do they smell? This poem explores the depths and breaths of what a daffodil is to the poet.