this is not a poem...

huh.
maybe this is
a poem
after all.

Say it...

there is something you
want to say but the words are
stuck in the shadows.

  

come home.

"you are full of yourself..."

 ...who else would I be full of?

 

voice in my head...

sometimes
when I think
I should
be sleeping
and it's dark and quiet
that's when thoughts
come to visit.
They repeat themselves.
repeat and repeat
until I get up
and write what
they have to say.
it can take a while,
like tonight, but
they won't stop
until they're
damn well ready
and if I'm patient
and a bit lucky
I end up with a 
nice little piece
of something-
like this.

History Matters...a book worth reading...

In my mind, David McCullough is a supreme word master.
He is one of very few authors who can entice me to read history.