Category Archives: Creative writing

— vry spring Bill & Johnny Runbythecrick — having looked at the greying snow for some weeks then the lifeless & dead hay that lay under it since they missed the last haying when the fall rain fell — wake … Continue reading →

So focused is he on the mystery of Dew dripping off rose petals That his photographic eye Cannot hear the rising wind.

Across the broad rain-scrubbed piazza, A wet warren of windows suggested That section of viaduct had been carved into homes A thousand, two thousand years of bricks Landed on my head right then. Not far away, almost six hundred years … Continue reading →