An ode to botany’s sacred cycle, The season of its resurrection. The time for us to til the soil, The time for us to plant a seed, The time to look for the new life,

What a stupid poem this is. When I read it, you don’t have to listen to it. You can go to sleep or write something. Anything would be better than this stupid thing. When I wrote it, I t...

Lidmen of the highest echelon, snobs in the upper rooms thereon, commanders of the package men, make’em tough til the very end. Wrap them only for the intellectua…

Comes a time when the battering di… When the pain is a never ending sa… When the arsenals are like the nak… When resistance is a sapling again… When the calm goes into the wild,

Mother Nature, the brain that con… the well-being of earth and flesh, our mother of charity and compassi… that oversees our development, that obeys every command

Springtime with its renewed optimism cast away the dark days of winter. They had worn the spirit down, and man needed that boost to raise himself from his baseness. Almost everyone be...

Skyborne buglers rally the lazy cl… that loll about the skies as velve… sleeping in peace and dreaming of… drifting and playing amongst the p… rolling in the empty spaces where…

Chords in the music give me wings… choosing me above all to lift to t… harmony filled with helium to keep… among the balladic clouds and star… Tyrants that live deep within the…

Hear ye, hear ye, whiners take hee… There is a place just for you, Not at the barbershop amidst An unfortunate one’s haircut, Who has listened to your complaini…

Friend & foe up so high, in a home of grace and cruelty, ochre sun of beauty and warmth, angel with horns and fiery halos, daughter of Satan and soul of God…

Go Go Fetus in the womb, Cramped up inside a narrow room. Go Go infant inside the crib With nervous arms and itchy feet. Go Go Baby with a roving brain

Sun of morning’s dimly lit behind perforated canopies of faded red and diluted orange metal clouds of brownish purple rising from the tombs of the earth