Thanks to the guild
An excuse at times
To meet other writers
And write silly rhymes
Snow-covered ground thaws
No matter that I fret and strain,
The golden words have fled my brain.
web-footed monks on pondlily altars sit
This is where I find you, in the morning air
My husband, the First
Oh, he was the worst
She was a loner, often standing in a corner by herself instead of mingling with the herd.
The experience of travel is more than being there
When I was just a figurine I’d dream I’d be the Garden Queen
The boat slammed deep inside one giant wave, then exploded to the top of the next one.
What kind of breadcrumbs would you like to leave for your children
Like in film noir, a chic woman in chic sunglasses
The mare continues to two-step,
A swish. A sashay
Galloping, galloping everywhere, Making a racetrack out of mid-air.
… there is neither sweet nor sour
To tempt me now.
Only daily bread.
Nothing seems out of the ordinary until a gunmetal gray limo pulls to a stop directly in front of him