The sun at last light Smolders with red-orange fire. Look! The sky darkens.
Chilly winter breeze Tousles the green blades of grass As the Sun rises.
Butter-colored sun Burning through the morning fog; Dew sparkles on grass.
I rarely write poetry. I am, first and foremost, a writer of prose, with a side dish of screenwriting added for good measure. Poetry is a genre that I don’t tackle much because I always feel like, “Nah. This is drivel. It doesn’t sing.” In today’s parlance, poetry, my friend, is not in my comfortContinue reading “On Poetry: ‘Where Time’s Winds Blow’”