Even the pen felt heavy. The ink was like tar, pulling the point back. Slowing it’s flight across the page. Just write. Writer’s write....

Stare at the blank pages. Pen in hand, ready to dance in neat lines of poetic construction. But the mind is tired and that first sentence...

My next assessment that I’d like to share with you is my poem The Bridge, haha. It hasn’t changed much from the original however. The...

There is no note on the passage of time. No lost journal or diary – no captain’s log. The sun rises to another day, at the same moment it...

Note: This is my Original Christmas Story that was published in both The Freeman’s Journal and Hometown Oneonta in the December 24th,...