Posted in Poetry


Not a sound
Don’t you hear?
No step upon the ground
No whistle we are clear

Nothing to see
But look right here
Yes by that old tree
It moved, I swear

No taste on our lips
But bitterness is clear
Straight to our hips
That’s what we fear

Nothing here to touch
Textures all around
Textiles and such
How does that sound?



I was 46 years old when I begun this blog, female and married with a house full of cats (7). My past is littered with the impact of events that happened when I was a teen. Two loves of my life have been nursing and studying. I just completed my Master of Arts: Media Studies endorsement. My blog will be about the things I think about, that might be better served being written rather than squirreled away in my mind festering. It is the meanderings of my mind as I seek to define myself and my world.

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