The dark clouds are rolling in quickly, wild wind blows fast and fiercely Many leaves and twigs start twirling around and circling Feeling like Edgar Allen Poe, In the distance I can hear some echo’s Of many dog’s barking in the distance, at this very instance I hear the blaring whistle of a train and heavy sounds of pouring rain Sitting on my bed feeling cozy and warm just enjoying the thunderstorm
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.
A silence on the night. The day fluttered quietly in whisper soft resonance, So many colours slowly dying Like confetti in the rain, And echoes touched each other, a reunion of themselves, As though they were astounded At their resonating
Put off the lantern. I am waiting for the moon’s primal face. The lesser flamingoes were going to shed the pink color. Nude as a python, the kiss of pomegranates, kills by asphyxiation. I suffer in the hands of protests.
It was night sin of domesticity. Dyed, I am loading the white secret of pain in the hollow of a mayhem. Till every blunder takes a downward flight striping the outsized image of a kill. His flames are now singeing