September 11 by The Running Son
The rubble that remains Where great legs once stood as sentinals proclaiming dominance from land to space, an annual itch …
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RunningSon aka Jim Aldrich, Joshua Tree CA 2013 | This site is dedicated with the deepest gratitude to Dr. Cláudio Naranjo, whose writings gave me life.
WITHIN ARE PIECES OF ME
by po'E.T. and the colors of pi
Words walking the tightrope from functionality to versification.
The Story of LIFE ... My Way
I am my Name.
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thoughts from my mind to yours
Poetry, musings and sightings from where the country changes
Poetic Landscapes Of The Spirit
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Im here to expose true talent
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Simple Living
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what I hear, what I read, what I write
Just a place to express my poems.
the lived experiences and musings of an organic, home-grown poet
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My faith is not shallow because I've been rescued from the deep.
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My muse's quiet amusement
(n): An office or position that provides its occupant with an outstanding opportunity to speak out on any issue.
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"Oh How Art Thou Love Of Poetry"
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A trip through life with fingers crossed and eternal optimism.
we were born naked onto the page of existence; with nothing but the pen of our soul to write ourselves into eternal ecstasy ~ DreamingBear Baraka Kanaan
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Small artists with big potential and lots of cliché.
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If I swore not to describe my heart, would it stop beating forever?
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How it feels like feeling home to a person who lives 8,000 miles away
Atrocities are sometimes nothing less than the vengeance of the tormented. (Louis de Bernieres)
Life in a long distance relationship
My heart, mind and soul...transcribed!
because anything is possible with Charisma
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