When I studied the west, which is all many of us seem to be doing by design, I came across…
A Letter to the Beautiful Stranger
Dear Friend of my heart, For years I have written songs for the singular joy of music and for the…
O Monkey, Monkey, wherefore art thou Monkey?
There was a time, though I cannot seem to either remember or imagine it anymore, when I was actually excited…
Writing Potion
That brown earthy aroma of ground coffee in a wicked alliance with rum is made homelier with a deliberate allowance…
Fragments and Illustrations
Pencils. I love pencils. I miss pencils. Their woody bodies and graphite cores. I wanted to make straight lines. Maybe…
Mulberry for the Fledglings
Dear Friend of my Heart, By the beginning of May the less elevated parts of the Dun Valley experience a…
a shameless bibliophile
To study literature is perhaps the most grueling, even a macabre torment that a lover of literature could invite upon themselves. The horror lies in the fact that one ends up failing to enjoy literature as they once did and they are not even aware of it for years.
The Buffoon
we slipped past the street vendorsFarooq and I, afloat a dusty gustpast the suspiciously shady alleywaydodging the smell of urine…
Poetry Yearning Forest
Dear friend of my heart, do you still love poetry as you once did? the musty smell of old books…
sometimes, a soft brush of longing
Dear friend of my heart, as seasons pass me by I come to understand how poems which are so deeply…
Story Of The Footloose 