Monthly Archives: November 2016

I Should Have Played The Piccolo

  For years I never thought Myself a poet— I didn’t understand Most of the poetry I’d read Or care to decode it— That convoluted Cryptic high-dollar lingo I needed Webster To help me plow through And still never knew … Continue reading

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Threading The Needle

Mother’s sewing box sat atop The Old Man’s chest of drawers. It was made of cedar covered with tin, painted gold, the lid hinged. It held thread and needles, stick pins and safety pins, lace, yarn, razor blades and two … Continue reading

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