Available on Amazon.com for $15 for paperback and $6 for the Kindle version.
Allow it in -aye, 'till when?
All at such cost, none are lost
Lo! then, what is foretold men,
Fiery talks or the coldest frost,
And breath & word alike swept
Away again, swept away in vain
A breadth as wide as death, except
We sustain all humanity, the refrain;
Yet forlorn we are in an age torn -
Such a number high of tongues cry
For mourn dost they must the morn,
Nary a ryhme of these words be lie.
The world can sever, and whosoever
Is taught to pass or stay brave & fast
Shall be learnéd & it prove no effort
If it be times as is the last that's cast.
Victory is what the sword can afford
Yet a poets pen can lord their sword.
is the title of my latest book. It is a compilation of strictly English poets dating back to the 1800's. My favorite writer William Shakespeare is not included because I wanted a theme of writers living around the same time as one another. It includes the works of brilliant English writers such as William Wordsworth, his dear friend Percy Bysshe Shelley, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Alfred Lord Tennyson, and John Keats. It is written in the original true English fashion, back when the word proved rhymed with loved and wasn't just a sight ryhme. I plan on compiling another book of strictly my favorite poetesses such as Emily Dickinson, Plath, and the like. The Kindle edition is priced at $7, but like my other books I'll probably run it for free for a few days for promotional purposes. The paperback is priced at $6.25 and is not eligible for free promotional offers.
It's available on Amazon for $3. Kindle edition only. 79 color pics of my Digital and traditional Art. Lots of Abstract and Nature works.
Each day the garden dies a little more
and I let it.
smoking in the sun
A lifeless haze locks me in
concrete; a stone puzzle,
parodied and now mistook
where pieces lie,
how little one gleans beneath concrete.
I cannot thread this maze
beneath hapless verse.
dwarfed by woe
Tall grass of the floodplain,
the flat meandering river,
a flight of cranes, startled,
rises from the opposite shore.
too silent this
Sorrow is a constant wind blowing,
today is the 3rd anniversary of my precious husband's death
If you love someone set them free
But I couldn't help myself.
I held on too tight, until you couldn't breathe.
Until I killed your soul, and no one could recognize you. Except me.
Because I am also dead.
Lose me in his labyrinth, in his futile endless maze, for when the hunt is over I'll be lost upon his gaze.
He is not curious as a cat nor furious as a beast, we are just men within this maze but too him were his feast.
Daedalus- the creator of the labyrinth in which to hold the mighty minotaur.