: About Me

Rhyming and poetry are two sides of similar coins.
most of us can make rhymes and we do. A Rhyme is nothing more than a shallow poem.
But making poetry is hard work. You must dig deep.
People are like that too. Some people rhyme, but they lack depth and their poem rings false.
Others have such depth, that they leave you wishing for one more verse.

There is a school of poetry today that says poems don't have to rhyme. Maybe that is true in a sense, but poetry must sound as though it does rhyme and that is even harder than just making poetry.

I don't yet know if I am a poet or not. A poet writes in a manner that runs and flows like rippling streams and rushing rivers, or tinkles like dripping springs and splashing fountains. They paint pictures with words. They can make you see the clouds and sky and feel the air rush past you and through your hair as they show you the Eagles crashing descent upon his prey, or the labored beating of a mans heart as he must say the final farewell to his one true love.

I have read poetry, both good and bad, and the difference is at once apparent. Bad poetry tells us nothing that we didn't already know. Good poetry tells us things that are commonplace, but in such a way that we have a whole new perspective on the subject.

I hope that I am just a bit like a good poem, when you look at my face, you may see only a man like many others, but if you will give me a few moments of your time, which is very precious, I hope you will get a new vision of who I am and what you know of me. I hope that in this chance encounter you will come away feeling as though you have recieved something of value.

My passion is ...

Touching people's Souls

I know too much about ...

Loss

My parents always told me ...

You'll go blind if you do that...

My childhood ambition ...

flying like I did in my dreams

My favorite memory ...

Growing up in the fifties in the Ojai Valley

Why I write ...

It's easier than the alternative; shivering in the darkness.

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

the voices, always the voices.

My first job ...

shaking rugs and taking out trash on Saturday mornings

My best moment ...

Three great moments at the birth of each child

My inspiration ...

The great blessed hope

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: The Spirit

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Shadow Of The Crescent Moon Spinning out of control in the expanding vortex communication breaks down, direction is lost Strength flags, determination falters, resistance fails, Fatherless children attack social values. A flood of filth is poured out like a plague. The celebration of purity is universally discarded. The good have lost all faith, and the evil are full of words without meaning. Certainly something is about to be revealed, Surely Messiah is coming soon. Messiah! The name is barely spoken when A great picture from the living spirit, Gives me nightmares: from the empty quarter,...

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