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.
At the beach, it’s night time about 8.00 p.m. Best time to come few people around. Air is crisp, clean; cool, and the white horses are having such fun. Can sit for hours or gently wade while she softly whispers
I hate the self-immolation of orange sex. Weather was leaving blue strings on the skin. Redemption was incomplete by sharing the legs Lips will not knead the ears. Like wakng in darkness for a passage to grief. Black moon will
A volcanic kiss was becoming ungreen. The shark was coming. All night it was raining. The sap was rising and love-farm was deluged. A blue moon walks on the dry eyes. Why the tears had gone to exile? A mole
Pillage started, when there were anti-answers. The trapped light- wanted to be released, from brutalism. When you were nearly drowned, in the multitude of questions, joining the palms, you collect the moments of solitude. You drop a key in the