Sunday Whirl
I open the book
The perfect grey feather
Found waiting
Morning quiet
Light penetrates my permeable
The only sound
The echo of the beat of my heart
Before me the field is open
The earth still frozen
My bare feet feel the cold
I am startled by the serenity
After the anguish
Shock of loss
A new day is born
The air fresh
A tiny flame burns in the hearth
poetry, publishing, and mentoring
Standing Tall with Big Heart: Somatically, Mindfully, Creatively, Unceasingly
Poetry and Other Music
Waiting on Words
Art from the Collection of Deborah Barlow
South meets East: Poetry and Musings - words of the seasons
A view of things outside the studio
poetic ponderings...parenting...procrastination...
Poets Pub
ASTROLOGY
Poetry and More
Some days are cloudier than others. . .
"We're all out there, somewhere, waiting to happen."
art. biology. creativity. science. design. nature.
Newsletter from NY Arts Magazine
Taos Artist Organization
a place for poetry
a community of people reading & writing poems, moving words
annellannell 