Will Mr. Shakespeare I wonder what you would think of our garden of verse Language has morphed far from the lilting phraseology of...

An age-spotted hand pulls back faded flour sack curtains in the window of an old run-down farmhouse A woman gray hair combed neatly...

Mom won every game we played: Candy Land, Go Fish, Gin Rummy for a penny a point, Clue. She won. I rebelled. She wanted me to be a lady,...

An everyday dress hangs in the cobweb-shrouded attic, draped on a padded dressmaker’s form. It belonged to a grandmother, a few greats...

The blessing basket reminds us that even though our lives may have a scarcity of the things we want, or think we need, and may seem...

Our lives are lived posthumously. The only truly fresh moment is when we emerge from the womb. Every other breath we take after the first...

I recently searched for myself on the internet. The last time I did this, I found one of my poems published in a European publication. I...

The rainbows are melting, sliding slowly from the sky. Yellows meld into greens, blues, until all the various hues become one: the color...

"For every tree is known by its own fruit. For men do not gather figs from thorns, nor do they gather grapes from a bramble bush." Luke...

Suspended between the seconds Hesitation between the tick and the tock of Father Time’s clock A hiccup between ‘tha’ and ‘thump’ of a...