Remembering the days of old, when father raked the leaves of Golden, yellow, brown and orange Jumping into the huge crisp pile, I tossed them all about As my father raked them on top of me I would creep out from under the pile laughing. With leaves hanging on my hair and clothing What a wonderful season. What a wonderful reason Just to play in the leaves.
I graduated with a degree in Library Science and was a Dean’s list student. I hold a copyright at the Library of Congress and am the author of Memories of My Grandfather. I love to write short stories and poetry and enter writing contests. Also, I love to re-purpose old furniture and like to do book art, genealogy and history preservation.I've donated historical items to the Library of Congress, and other state and local libraries history centers and museums. I have a book at https://iucat.iu.edu/catalog/9248091? I also have written for https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caleb_Blood_Smith (scroll down to search for body and external links and I've written and entered there too.)In the winter of 1978 I attended an excavation of President Abraham Lincoln’s former cabinet member, Caleb Blood Smith with my grandfather John Walker, in Connersville, Indiana. Together my grandfather and I wrote “Weird Mystery” about the Smith excavation that is currently in the I.U. Library Stacks in Bloomington, Indiana.
loner in the desert incapable of enjoying the stars knight of no man’s land cannot stand on his own desperate for a touch ‘pathetic’, they shout and wonder how he lost his mind love only made him weaker as life
I watch storm clouds drag themselves over broken city skylines. Listen to their thundering hearts, beat the promise of the malign. The frigid touch of rain, falling from a million hollow eyes. I wait and wish for my demise. In
Fast winds and salty sea spray You’re the one on my mind Tanned skin and hair astray How could we have been so blind? Country songs at the background Falling in love with another Could you still stick around? In
Man of few words, He scars his badge of honor kept himself a shield of neglect, holding onto tears that dripped no longer an ode sang the orientals ” ‘t was summers of an ancient time, He had visions of