bil

Sitting at the keyboard waiting for my brain to light up. Suddenly all my systems turn green. Now I can go As fast as thought limits allow. No breaks now. Bow Before the Maker of your own creativity And be as thankful as you can be For not everyone fulfills, to the best Of their ability, the honesty of living As though their minds were truly free. As for me, I haven’t decided yet whether I am impelled, compelled, expelled, enspelled, Or otherwise knelled to a fare-thee-well. Still I can tell the truth about late night writing, If you just let it flow, it can be exciting.

I have, like most poets, a lot of old, un or seldom read verses dating back to a 14 year old on a farm in New Jersey where I wrote The stars spread over Heaven Like little golden sands Thrown in a careless pattern By a pair of Holy Hands. to which my sister added, "There they twinkle brightly Where you and I may see, Shining in the heavens Like silver filigree."

Bilog 1. Good day, world! It seems harder to start your motor on a cold morning, and so it is with mine. After years of varied writing and performing, I am about to unload some of the items that may prove of interest to other writers who find themselves aging with a vast pile of manuscripts that they hope might still prove of interest other than familial  I'll start with a short story: