I think it was just before Winter When the change took her away. Yes— I think it was then, not sur… That Fall left the forest, to sta… She stepped from the trees for a m…
In Irish tales Of ships and sails And foggy glens With spirits bright There comes a tale
Seated on a bolder In the midst of Yellowstone Reflecting on a Geyser And a Bison, all alone. Tis my place to unwind the springs
If I could paint a pristine scene Using words from my mind Then I would word a whispering br… In an English garden, Willow line… And if I could build a place to d…
The Sky’s in blistered phases From a sunset’s dying light As the ocean mocks the shadows of Some passing gulls in flight. The wind drifts deep, as melting l…
Honeysuckle and Blue Bells In a backyard English Garden Some Dog Rose and Cowslip In an unlikely place called Harle… There is Ragged Robin, here and t…
Skylight Pink, a Hoot owl’s winks In the mist and the morning shadow… Love and life like a sculptures kn… Has carved a world of sorrows. Grieving Blue, if all you knew
While gliding down that last great… Comes the shrill voice of the Fal… And the soul reaches out for a com… Called the Weave of the Dreamer’s… Not so long had the spirit fled
In the harbor’s fog the dragon sle… As if drifting through a twilight… And it dreams so deep of another p… To pass the time of endless days. Yet, a kindled fire in an unknown…
Live the Love forever In our hearts we see you there Live the Love forever Leave behind what you share Visions painted with the brush
Rain, hail, galeforce wind. Hay, I am working down here! SO AM I Noah. wind swirled dust devil dancing down a dusty road
Full Moon hangs in sky, Wolves howl, snakes slither, Frui… Stark clouds drift and cry. D. Thurmond / JEF —- 11-15-2015
I was drawn to a drawing On a tent Was a face A Blue-eyed Gypsy In a Black Shawl of Lace
I stroll along the seaside in my m… And watch the repetitious waves, r… I know their crashing sounds can s… Why?— I don’t know, I don’t know. I watch the graceful gulls cut the…
In darkness, shadows hide Unseen by misting eyes. But who might seek the softer side Of phantoms and their cries? Those that drift to indigo
