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"Poetry . . . takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.” Wordsworth

Category / The Writing

The Turning 

As I lay here on the bed, On the river, on boats and the stream, The day shimmering slanting, Leaves and trees. As I lay here and you are gone. The day blown. My eyes alone. The day begins. And night’s longing, My thirst to hear The wind, your voice. The turning. —– Santa Cruz […]

Day and Night

February 1, 2016 That falling; That longing racing. Each day waiting. Walk along with me, you did. Take me back to the infinite. There lost, your gone. Tear me down. Forever in you, Radiance lingers effulgent; Melting, fading, I drowning. The winds tonight cold, Clean blown sadness and the starlight. Here, you, now, you cold […]

These Are The Monuments.

January 28, 2016 These are the monuments. Here are the hillsides. There is the sea. Your monuments bequeathed to me. These are the hillsides Swept away. Rain, wind and rage. Your monuments resting in me. This was the sunlight And all its blue And still, now, that longing, That yearning for you. Here are your […]