I am 58 years old. I have two grown children and 3 grand daughters. I am a widow I lost my husband after 32 years of marriage to cancer 5 years ago. It was the pain of that loss that made me turn to poetry. I write all kinds of poetry. My biggest occupation is finding an idea I can turn into a poem . I have written 1000 poems and still writing.
On wrong side of truth a prophecy burns. A conflict of your own choosing when more was less. Do you need some divine intervention in resolving human questions? The innocence of a sunflower will not blame the moon for dark
The shrine of Madonna stood tall, The high king’s rapier fell down, not anymore was he the young prince, for he was devoid of all feelings. The shrine of Madonna stood strong, The high king’s blood washed the ivory pedestal,
A misbelief breaks into rags. Still I dream of some gods on black pages piecing together the words of light. The rains come in the cage of tears, voicelessly. Striated muscles of splintered faith go to cramps birthing the avatar
There was thunder in the hut teeth clattered under the ground. Handcuffed you walk in inequality to qualify for hanging till dead. I may not tell myself what was happening to me. Moving in opposite direction the bird was able