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Kitten Kisses

A fuzzy ear,

a damp nose,

a sleeping girl no longer.

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A Night for a Novel

“Anything worth doing can be done in one night”

writing paraphernalia

She fluffed her pillows.

She plugged in her laptop.

She set her coffee,

her water,

a tissue box,

the radio remote,

a pen,

and a notepad

all on the bedside table. Read the rest of this entry


“Life’s too short babe, time keeps flying, I’m looking for baggage to go with mine”


I’m not a hoarder,

but trinkets do clutter my room,

and random items

do accumulate in my closets

and corners

much like memories

compile themselves

in the recesses

of my head.


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are those who grow

without being stunted

less immune

to coffee?


On the ground:



crumbling at a single touch,

coating the earth

with a variety of oranges, yellows, and reds.

The leaves of fall,

beautiful even in death.

Star Child

You might think that a child of the night

would bring darkness

to the world around it.

But that created in darkness

can fill a need.


For what is the most noticeable thing in the night sky?

The stars.

Why are cities beautiful at night?

Lights: neon, flourescent,

all over.

like so, products of dark times

do not need to be an extension of that darkness,

but can function as light

for others.


Just that little bite,

inside a bite,

a jolt of flavor,

reminding you

that even things that are necessary

can be fun.


The picture shows her lying on the bed,

innocently cuddling her cat,

leg bent, foot crooked inside her knee.


Leg of Lamb,

the wolf thinks to himself 

and licks his lips.


With water, it might be washed away.

With sunlight, it may fade.

With abuse, it may be destroyed.

But no matter what happens to the art you create,

you will always know you did something.

Now you just need to decide if that matters.


I’ve got a project. But I’m not going to tell you about it. It’s a secret project. That way, if I don’t finish it, no one will be able to hold me accountable. Ok, so now that I’ve gone on that little teasing jaunt, I’ve got another poem for you.

Flickering heat.


snuffed by a breeze,

or is it?


The flame returns,

strengthened by the brief reprieve.


on my hand. 

in my hands.

against my skin.

The candle burns.