Haiku

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A peaceful evening
Sparrows singing together
with pretty feathers.
Green and speckled legs,
Hop on logs and lily pads
Splash in cool water.


I am first with five
Then seven in the middle
Five again to end

Green and speckled legs,
Hop on logs and lily pads

Splash in cool water.

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Short Story

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A Pair of Silk Little Mrs. Sommers one day found herself the unexpected possessor of fifteen dollars. It seemed to her a very large amount of money, and the way in which it stuffed and bulged her worn old porte-monnaie gave her a feeling of importance such as she had not enjoyed for years. The question of investment was one that occupied her greatly. For a day or two she walked about apparently in a dreamy state, but really absorbed in speculation and calculation. She did not wish to act hastily, to do anything she might afterward regret. But it was during the still hours of the night when she lay awake revolving plans in her mind that she seemed to see her way clearly toward a proper and judicious use of the money. A dollar or two should be added to the price usually paid for Janie's shoes, which would insure their lasting an appreciable time longer than they usually did. She would buy so and so many yards of percale for new shirt waists for the boys and Janie and Mag. Sh...
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Sonnet

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My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desp’rate now approve Desire is death, which physic did except. Past cure am I, now reason is past care, And frantic mad with evermore unrest, My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are, At random from the truth vainly expressed;    For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,    Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
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Elegy

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Sutherland No More – A Proclamation Sutherland Springs from the pages of my media feed, A story of guns, grief and the need, for no more. Sutherland no more. The innocent and the free sitting in their Sunday Pews, Little thinking they would be the news, on the door. Sutherland no more. The white squat steepled church reaches to the sky, The congregation and world asks why, whilst the tears pour. Sutherland no more. ‘Fortunately somebody else had a gun’, the saying goes, That was equalising those bullet flows, from ceiling to floor. Sutherland no more. Freedom to Bear, Freedom to Speak, Freedom to seek The solution to these nightmares in our sleep. Guns cause the rift and opinion must shift. When you’re gone, Will you send back a letter from America?
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