Originally posted on Scribbled Verse:
Stephen Hawking (1942 – 2018) imprisoned in his wheelchair, the body shackled by motor-neurone disease, his intellect perched on wings, always flying free. A failing body never allowed…
The rising sun I sat in the New Orleans in 1996. I liked New Orleans. Hard time and hard days couldn’t kill her spirit. I drank whiskey with old men and pretty… Continue reading
Two guitars I hurt myself today. I wanted to bleed real blood and I called you and I told you my love. I have forgiven you and I haven’t forgotten you. If… Continue reading
This is poetry. Please read and enjoy the work of a talented writer.
