Tag Archive: short-story

I want to know you.

I want to know you. Silence whispers and pretty photos they give me remnants of who we are. Do you know me?  I believe woman are more layered than men. Rarely does a… Continue reading

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We shall meet near where the Clinton River reaches the Lake St. Clair.

We will meet where the Clinton River reaches the Lake St. Clair. (April is poetry month and this is new poetry twenty-five.) I told you when we were just babies in heart. Where… Continue reading

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The writing on the wall.

The writing on the wall. Did we love? Did we steal from each other? Did we loan kisses? If we did. I would steal and loan a thousand more kisses from you my… Continue reading

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For the days of Spring. The circle dance.

The circle dance. I have danced often the circle dance at Native Americans Pow Wows. The circle dance had many meanings. The leader called to the people; the Ojibwa children begin the circle… Continue reading

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Kiss away my ghosts. And an amazing song by Creed Fisher.

Kiss away my ghosts. The saddest man on the block drank alone. He writes sleeping man poetry, and he drink the “Quiet man” whiskey.  He was once insane, wild and foolish. He befriended… Continue reading

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Nevermore, evermore or nothing more.

Nevermore, evermore or nothing more. She told me, please take of the mask. You may not like what you see. You have learned to love the darkness, please look closer, look closer till… Continue reading

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Jazzy Wednesday poetry. Always ask for more.

Jazzy Wednesday poetry.1- I told her she was so damn pretty. I love those eyes of coffee brown. I had watched her dance alone. Tight black dress, strong legs and robust body made… Continue reading

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A Germany story of love.

(April is poetry month. New poem number fourteen.) A Germany story of love. Once upon a time, I was nineteen in 1977. Proud, strong and the world was my place to conquer. I… Continue reading

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Beautiful Maria showed me the way to the fray.

A woman, too pretty to be near me. She took my hands and she told me. Johnnie, Johnnie. You must find the Fray. Your organized life is killing you and your dead dreams… Continue reading

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The Texas Jazz, I do need. Dear Jenny.

“Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope.… Continue reading

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