She came to the desert
To walk on the edge of a knife
The paint brush her weapon of expression
The green of New York did not inspire her
Vastness held her wonder, her spirit
The loner in the desert, found her own way
Her ashes and essence sparkle in the dryscape
I seek only a glint of her inspiration
A creative raindrop in the elusive oasis
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Primavera Falso
I wrote this poem in the spring of 2019. I remember it today as I wake up to the lightest dusting and cloudy skies. Primavera Falso Green...
-
Sometime in March, as my trip to the Jersey Shore was on the horizon, my brother asked me if I would like to attend the inaugural Avon by th...
-
I wrote this poem in the spring of 2019. I remember it today as I wake up to the lightest dusting and cloudy skies. Primavera Falso Green...
-
I'm a good driver, and an even better parker. The state of Colorado recognizes Rheumatoid Arthritis as a permanent disability and as su...
No comments:
Post a Comment