Keep Smiling

Keep Smiling

Choose Love

Choose Love

WITHIN A SILENT MIST — A “Simple Sunday” Piece

“Foggy Park” by Leonid Afremov WITHIN A SILENT MIST Alone within the evening, a silent mist ever so gently drawing me in; alone within my thoughts as I ponder many things. Flickering flames of autumn igniting an otherwise misty grey, glistening magic carpeting the way beneath my feet, rainbowed crimson and gold warming my heart […]

Saturday Share, Come One ~ Come All !!!

Come join in the fun with collabs and/or comments! Everyone is welcome!

SPILLING OVER — Friday Fling Piece (with photos)

SPILLING OVER Drop by drop they fill this cup, emotions bottled up inside though not too difficult to see, worn on my sleeve and on my face, waves of emotion and stinging tears washing over and spilling out of the deep recesses inside of me. And here on this page they sometimes find their way, […]

Get Lost in the Lines with ME!!!

This is a compilation of all the lines for this week’s collab that will post on Friday night at 8PM Eastern. Hope you’ll pick a few and join in on the fun! All are welcome.

IT’S THAT TIME, GIVE ME ONE-MORE-LINE!!! (CLOSED)

This is the first blog of three for the “CPC” Collab development process. On this blog we add lines and play off each others lines to generate lines for the collabs. Come on over and join in the fun. All are welcome!

TREASURED — A “Simple Sunday” Piece

“Drawing Hands” by M.C. Escher TREASURED Holding back the tears of sadness mixed with joy, I close the lid and carefully slip the ribbon back on, placing the treasured box of words collected there back where they came from, somewhere deep within a gentle heart words flowing to each page from her soul through her […]

Saturday Share, Come One ~ Come All !!!

Earlier in the week, a blog was posted inviting everyone to come and give “One-More-Line” to generate lines for this “Collab” Poetry. Hope you will join in the fun with collabs and/or comments.

WHAT HAPPENS AFTER MIDNIGHT . . . . a “Friday Fling”

WHAT HAPPENS AFTER MIDNIGHT . . . . . The hands of the clock wound ever so close to the moment of truth, the hour of midnight, and Dad paced the floor, the same path well worn, wringing his hands and his heart as the dark of the night inched ever closer toward morn. On […]