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Haiku

This category contains 203 posts

brushed by dreams

My mind brushed by dreams, Like willow branches floating, On the ponds surface.

Why I write Poetry?

Writing Poetry, Is distilling language down, to the very core.

They call them weeds

Yellow Sunflowers. Others call them weeds, and yet, They brighten my day.

Christmas lights

Brilliant Winter Stars In the sky on Christmas Night Outshine the lights

Glorious Sky

A Glorious Sky! Orange-shouldered Orion throws the Boomerang moon.

Birthday joys

Ice cream for breakfast. Sometimes the simple pleasures are the ones you need.

a damp fall morning

Little drops of dew Landing on my exposed skin like tiny pinpricks

Falling into cloud Orion leaps but fails to touch the crescent moon

Looking Beyond

When you look beyond The chasms that lie ahead You see the full moon

Shadows of evening

Evening Approaches Pecan shadows are creeping across the roadway