The Moment Of Inspiration Can Come From

Where I Lived - Winter And Hard Earth.i Sat In My Cold Stone Roomchoosing Tough Words, Granite, Flint,to Break The Ice. My Broken Heart -i Tried That, But It Skimmed,flat, Over The Frozen Lake.she Came From A Long, Long Way,but I Saw Her At Last, Walking,my Daughter, My Girl, Across The Fields,in Bare Feet, Bringing All Spring's Flowersto Her Mother's House. I Swearthe Air Softened And Warmed As She Moved,the Blue Sky Smiling, None Too Soon,with The Small Shy Mouth Of A New Moon.

What Will You Do Now With The Gift Of Your Left Life?

The Poem Is A Form Of Texting... It's The Original Text. It's A Perfecting Of A Feeling In Language - It's A Way Of Saying More With Less, Just As Texting Is.

If We Think Of What's Up Ahead, With Climate Change And Wars Over Water, It's Very Frightening.

Poetry, Above All Is A Series Of Intense Moments ­ Its Power Is Not In Narrative. I'm Not Dealing With Facts, I'm Dealing With Emotion.