poetry-sarah.blogspot.com
The good, the bad and the terrible poetry of Sarah: January 2008
http://poetry-sarah.blogspot.com/2008_01_01_archive.html
The good, the bad and the terrible poetry of Sarah. Sunday, January 20, 2008. Boardwalk, where do you lead? Feet have strolled upon your faded wood? Do you have stories in your years less. You carry people to a greater place than. Has anyone stumbled into her shallow waters? My words hiss insults as she trembles,. Snaking away from me. Faithful boardwalk. You are forever beneath me. She says our path is never straight. Neither are you. Boardwalk: you wind,. Cavorting between bush and lake - a bridge.
poetry-sarah.blogspot.com
The good, the bad and the terrible poetry of Sarah: A Collection of Three.
http://poetry-sarah.blogspot.com/2007/11/collection-of-three.html
The good, the bad and the terrible poetry of Sarah. Sunday, November 25, 2007. A Collection of Three. Weaving through the earths knuckles. Contours of something more. Free to inspire at will. But miraculous when used. Can depict and portray. In shapes or words. Yet a single group. A mere collection of lines. Can mean the death. The loss of life. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). A Collection of Three. View my complete profile.
poetry-sarah.blogspot.com
The good, the bad and the terrible poetry of Sarah: November 2007
http://poetry-sarah.blogspot.com/2007_11_01_archive.html
The good, the bad and the terrible poetry of Sarah. Sunday, November 25, 2007. Grass swayed in time to the radio, golden. Like Dana's wayward hair floating as tornado wind. Blew into the car. We were driving to the horizon, but. It kept avoiding us, as if it were travelling too. Dana said we were escaping, but I didn't know. From what. So we didn't stop to bask. In the emptiness of the plains, or wonder. Why we spoke so little: silence. Became our uninvited passenger, uncomplicated but present. Http:/ bl...
poetry-sarah.blogspot.com
The good, the bad and the terrible poetry of Sarah: The low-down.
http://poetry-sarah.blogspot.com/2007/11/low-down.html
The good, the bad and the terrible poetry of Sarah. Sunday, November 25, 2007. This is my second blog for my poetry but I cannot access my older one. The link is:. Http:/ blackheartedpoetry.blogspot.com/. I will putting in a few of my more recent older poems but the rest will stay on the other blog. Feel free to comment or give constructive criticism! Some of my older stuff is also on my dA account:. Http:/ scottish-gardeners.deviantart.com/. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). A Collection of Three.
poetry-sarah.blogspot.com
The good, the bad and the terrible poetry of Sarah: Boardwalk - Edited.
http://poetry-sarah.blogspot.com/2008/01/where-do-you-lead.html
The good, the bad and the terrible poetry of Sarah. Sunday, January 20, 2008. Boardwalk, where do you lead? Feet have strolled upon your faded wood? Do you have stories in your years less. You carry people to a greater place than. Has anyone stumbled into her shallow waters? My words hiss insults as she trembles,. Snaking away from me. Faithful boardwalk. You are forever beneath me. She says our path is never straight. Neither are you. Boardwalk: you wind,. Cavorting between bush and lake - a bridge.
poetry-sarah.blogspot.com
The good, the bad and the terrible poetry of Sarah: The Black Line
http://poetry-sarah.blogspot.com/2007/11/black-line.html
The good, the bad and the terrible poetry of Sarah. Sunday, November 25, 2007. Grass swayed in time to the radio, golden. Like Dana's wayward hair floating as tornado wind. Blew into the car. We were driving to the horizon, but. It kept avoiding us, as if it were travelling too. Dana said we were escaping, but I didn't know. From what. So we didn't stop to bask. In the emptiness of the plains, or wonder. Why we spoke so little: silence. Became our uninvited passenger, uncomplicated but present.
poetry-sarah.blogspot.com
The good, the bad and the terrible poetry of Sarah: Charred By Passion
http://poetry-sarah.blogspot.com/2007/11/charred-by-passion.html
The good, the bad and the terrible poetry of Sarah. Sunday, November 25, 2007. They are matchstick men. Fragile, skinny, weak. But they have the uncanny ability. To create a fire, a passion. It burns from head to toe. So bright, alive, glowing. The heat is infectious. It passes between the matchstick men. Soon they are all ablaze. So beautiful, pure, golden. But when the wind comes. All that is left are ashes. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). A Collection of Three. View my complete profile.
