tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39245284984615911222012-02-11T05:32:23.828-05:00Get your daily "poesy" fix right here!ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.comBlogger411100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-44514075575766034782007-10-22T20:24:00.000-05:002007-10-22T20:44:46.087-05:00

A giddy surge of shining gleeAbruptly intercedes the gloomThat had before so hounded thee.The uproar laughing its way freeCasts blinding light upon the doom-Enraptured ones who yet will see.Contageous of a hearty kind,Those sounds of laughter come in forceAnd capture all the neighbor mindsI do so love the bouant feelThat brings a certain woe divorceAnd has unequaled gift to heal.Ahh, laughter.

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-30262958940625652162007-10-18T23:04:00.000-05:002007-10-18T23:13:17.510-05:00

"Contempt" would not describe in fullMy heart's disgust with worldly man.Little wonder, then, that IWhen gazing in upon my mind(As I am apt to do for hours)See bubbling up like molten leadA vengeful, reckless will to "fix"The problems plaguing man's good heart.The roaches found at darkest nightWith drunken slur and vicious fightShould be destroyed or be disarmedAs one would missiles

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-36099672664749103232007-10-18T22:53:00.000-05:002007-10-18T23:04:43.860-05:00

There's a bitter Eastern WindThat tosses golden leavesAnd plants the unborn treeIn deep, unknowing soil;Is the fertile landAware that in its handsAre placed by fiery windThe protégé of Hope?No.After darkened hours of ceaseless swirlsOf mind-plays seize my eyes and stop my sleep;And just before the gentle night is slain,An army of songs is set upon the day.Do these wondrous feathered songs burst

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-18344753319302445832007-10-13T00:31:00.000-05:002007-10-13T01:45:47.060-05:00

In my most recent poem, "An Autollegory," I tried to gauge my ability to write meaningful and relevant things without having experienced much in the way of hardships. I proposed a solution to that problem with personal introspection. My error was in looking solely at myself, and not enough at the world around me. After accidentally exploring some things online, namely "Fort Liberty," as well as

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-15298132813852105932007-10-10T00:55:00.000-05:002007-10-10T01:54:45.711-05:00

A question has begun to plague me: how could I be destined to write poetry when my life has been so blatantly free of events that would normally drive a person to true wisdom. Simply put, can a person achieve knowledge of difficulties without being challenged himself?Abe Bennet lived a solitary life,Perusing rows of dusty, gentle booksThat lined the walls that bound for him his world:A store of

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-73279687111039384632007-10-08T19:32:00.000-05:002007-10-08T19:42:36.544-05:00

If you read this blog and skim the deeper poems because they just don't make any sense, this is your lucky day! I am going back through my poetry archives and writing notes and explanations about the creation or meaning of my poems. If you want to get emails with these annotated poems, leave a comment here with your email address or email me at i_am_ihop@yahoo.com . From now on, every poem I

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-12071011223996658882007-10-08T14:21:00.000-05:002007-10-08T14:24:44.496-05:00

Nikes cast twin shadowsEach on a sideIn perfect oppositiongTo flourescent rays.A loose-curled handBecomes a fist, aMass of dark uponThe speckled rug.

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-66994373920909411652007-10-08T14:08:00.000-05:002007-10-08T14:20:05.409-05:00

Briefly, to explain this, I had just finished a 6 page paper on Wordsworth's "Prelude" and then found out that I had to read the Dejection Ode by Coleridge for the same class, which did not amuse me. So, instead, I wrote my own dejection verses. What wishful thinking had I in that hourWhen challenge met with deep intuit power, That last o'ercome was last of all.Great virtue pulled, uplifted

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-74334718205639295542007-10-02T22:21:00.000-05:002007-10-02T22:29:50.147-05:00

AN UNFINISHED HISTORYand A Rebuke of Former MusingsLight gathers on the crust of dawn,Releasing drip by dropA trickled arc of palest sun,That vests our heaven’s top.The dawn of peace may take an age,But comes with waxing pace,For in the blackest, cruelest page,The man of yore found grace.Ah, and here I sense an urge,A primal, whelming call,To draw these lines that I might purge,The fog from verse

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-61575539829055731392007-10-01T22:47:00.000-05:002007-10-01T23:18:21.562-05:00

Mist hangs loosely around the limbsOf the ancient oak. An owl inquires, withSinister calm, as to my identityBut pauses not for an answer,Storming away on silent limbs,Swirling the hovering fog.A reverent heart will suffice,Win entrance to the core of Nature.This great tower, this totem, of lifeWhispers in the ears of all who listen;Who seek with honesty to balanceThe human with the real,The

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-70047618511309423632007-10-01T00:47:00.000-05:002007-10-01T00:59:16.396-05:00

Can you imagine the weight of such time?The crushing inertia of thousands of years?Like Atlas's burden, the words and the rhymesOf numberless forebears will not disappear.The stone has been deeply and boldly engraved,Far harder to change than the stroke of a pen,For centuries' poets did not write enslavedBy paper; their pad was the fabric of men!And now, in an age with a dwindling mindThat

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-12034894348543421022007-09-04T23:20:00.000-05:002007-09-06T22:49:57.126-05:00

Like Abraham stands fate with thee,Atop a mount with unheard plea,No beast to give, resistance down,Abandoned but with sober crown."How easy now," forked tongue inquires,"To live with cain 'til breath expires?"Red plastic bounds each week to next,Its hemlock dew the mind perplexed.Great oil of speech, grave action's soap,With basic grip it coats the slope.An acid will, the taught core's bane,Is

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-50492044032184237132007-06-28T11:07:00.000-05:002007-06-28T11:08:58.078-05:00

Mice click, keys patter.Metal hums its favorite song.This is not the realm of nature.This is a man-u-fractured world,Charged with a busy lustFor material material,And earning sixteenComforts each hour,(Money is comfortAnd comfort is priceless—Because the pricetag is hidden.)That suit-clad, mad “me”-erShort-circuits the world Cells ring. Wheels glide. Cogs jam.

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-18557025007673659602007-06-11T00:03:00.000-05:002007-06-11T00:56:29.793-05:00

Rhubarb is a lot like celery.Rhubarb is stringy, not refined.The reason raw rhubarb isScorned by even the mostCullinarily confident of cooksIs readily clear--Readily crunchy and chewyAnd readily, rabbley, raunchilyNot so good-tasting.Strawberry is a lot like heaven.Strawberry is luscious and refined.The reason ruby strawberries areUsed to top wedding cakes forThe most powerful of unionsIs readily

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-58957115041041481522007-06-10T21:56:00.000-05:002007-06-11T00:03:29.856-05:00

The cool-cave dark assuaged the stingOf hours beneath a vengeful sun.All the beasts of paw and wingCried of hard fights and were undone.Two kinds arose that bested all,Emerged to conquer every land.And one had power of mind and gall,The other will and strength of hand.These two odd beasts were one in form,Compressed inside a single mind,And wracked the bodies with raw harmThey aimed, each at the

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-52096912833861954492007-06-10T21:49:00.000-05:002007-06-10T21:56:17.981-05:00

Feverishly keeping watchTo save his mind before it pines,He marks his soul, its song and march,With pens and needles, quills and spines.Compelled is he by restlessness,His stomach clenched in writhing knots,To find a means to make a messAnd own his life before he rots.Perfection's goal obscures dear life'sIn silent, murderous quest itUnleashes its hordes of numbing,droning, dissolving

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-92114870767285714262007-05-30T15:14:00.000-05:002007-05-30T15:21:26.742-05:00

The hot, still air stifles all conversation,Save the droning ad for winter outfits—Odd to think about snow boots and parkasWhen the sun beats down, melting the farm house.Shimmers of molten air invade the shadowsMissed by the sun’s blinding will.Grandpa sleeps, propped up in his chair,The cat purring weakly, its fur matted and scorching.I can take the stillness, the burning silence,The creeping,

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-72615639741511560342007-05-21T12:32:00.000-05:002007-05-30T20:30:44.200-05:00

I can write with smooth,Flowing verse that ticklesYour nose like the snow ofA dandelion's mane.It can dance, spin,Pull you into its swirlOf sounds.You drown,Gasping, graspingAt the click of the mouse,The hum of the fan,In that cheap hotel room.The sweat smears into your eyes,Mixing with the tearsAnd the words.But I don't want to.How formless and reliant onExaggerations andKings of poetical

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-57783840444491955232007-05-18T12:40:00.000-05:002007-05-18T12:50:25.880-05:00

We are buckets...With holes.We are faucets...Dripping drops.We are dams...Of half the stream.And now I sit me down to dineWith too small, simple wooden cup.My cup runneth over--staining red my hands.And when the brim is purpled dark,I grasp the stem to quench my desert thirst.What wicked fingers must be theseTo burn five holes through rough-grained wood.These thorns of flesh unleash the rush,And

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-55789065948063331842007-05-07T11:01:00.000-05:002007-05-07T11:07:32.063-05:00

Verse 1You left today with five farewells;I gladly matched embrace with hug.No smile there, your face just fell,And asking why brought but a shrug.And in my sprint I chased your tears,Those drops of sorrow, tainted dark,Condensed of bitter loss and fearsOf pining for and yearning stark.ChorusAh… what times we had!Would that this sweet elegiac songMight sweep us back around that bend,To when our

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-44002660757203622272007-04-29T20:27:00.000-05:002007-04-30T22:53:19.024-05:00

I readThose idle wordsAnd pondered what had bredThe evil force which always herdsMy peers to drunken pastures to be fed.I know no other way to phrase the pain,The anguished sting of staying tallAnd watching paths of CainConsume them all,Their bane.I throwMy hands aloft,And then this hope I sowMust take root in the soil soft,But flocks of greedy ravens keep in tow.“Unfair,” the bitter voice inside

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-26856997124948533792007-04-28T17:50:00.000-05:002007-04-28T17:55:35.231-05:00

Verse 1:I used to ignore you,You people of the world.I blinded myself toTheir painful lives unfurled.These poor souls, unaided,They struggle throug this strife.Corrupt by my culture,I went about my lifeChorus:I need something.You just needed me.The world may be struggling, struggling,But I reach my hand out.The world may be struggling, struggling,But I reach my hand out.Verse 2:I travelled to

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-3058272865855659962007-04-26T22:09:00.000-05:002007-04-26T22:40:49.472-05:00

poor Horsey's sighte has gone from himhe was my Bestest friendi loved my Horsey way bak thenit had to Go and endPoor Horsey's sight has gone from him,Away through agéd eyes.He once obeyed my will and whim,now musters but a sigh.that box right they're is awful bigit must get in his wayhe keaps on staring right ahedhe'll talk again sum dayThe boxes in this storage roomConsume poor Horsey's sight.He

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-45800007145676703092007-04-25T11:27:00.000-05:002007-11-05T11:10:07.198-05:00

The inspiration for this poem (it's title) will make a lot of sense to anyone who has had Mr. Hickerson and has therefore been exposed to the painful delights of the daily class logs, or minutes, as most sapiens would term them. I enjoy the oft-employed line "The reading of the old class log," so I snatched it into an unrelated environment.The Reading of the Old Class LogAnd yes, the dappled,

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-58815668997667273592007-04-15T14:56:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:15:11.234-05:00

Who could truly liveWithout a warm chord,A minor touch, a resolutionThat reaches the soul?I travel with every song,Washed away and washed clean,Comforted and calm.The real world tugs toNo avail as waves ofMelody mask and meltThe concerns of my present.On the blasted, batteredBeach my scalding feetAre cooled and cleansed.Grains of measured salt stingExposed edges of my mind,But in the pain of

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-19563815618072744022007-04-13T23:18:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:15:42.258-05:00

For several years I have been sliding down that well-known (and unequivocally slippery) slope towards obsession with crossword puzzles. I'm not good at them, but I long for them, particularly Monday and Tuesday. I can get completely lost in a puzzle, slaving over a single crossword for hours without losing a bit of focus. I've gotten better, as well, and the satisfaction of finally figuring out

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-33590409381040522882007-04-09T22:41:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:16:11.153-05:00

"You wanna walk the dog?" I say,But know how she'll reply.We grab the leash and start awayFrom home, my friend and I.No mind it's night, forget the rain,We'll share the company.I'm warm and dry, though it seems vain,Because she's next to me.Our friendship stretches years behind;We're tighter now than then.Two best friends like beacons shine,And guide each other in.My ship is anchored firm at bay,

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-15464867883339695172007-04-07T22:31:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:19:10.378-05:00

Fan Blows hard; computer hums.The Sony numbers slide alongAs, with raw spite, tomorrow comes.But no one lies where she belongs;She's with her Teddy, rich with age.Here! Am I jealous? Am I wrong?His stomach's torn, with no rib cage;His limbs hang on with waning drive;His eyes are glazed, worn down, but sage.So she may squeeze that bear, make liveHis gentle love and loyalty,And I'll sleep here, but

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-46146696694437990722007-04-07T22:29:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:16:46.698-05:00

Wave your hands and tip your bowlers;Here they come, the Holy Rollers.See? Where blue meets green and brown?There’s something moving, coming downFrom yonder hill, and moving fastIn no time flat they’re flashing past.I’ll wave my hand and tip my bowler;There’s one now, a Holy Roller.The purr of rubber, clank of chains,Pursue the riders down their lanes.Their pedals pushing ever onYou mustn’t blink

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-55007451036752170682007-04-07T22:22:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:19:48.389-05:00

I know. I know. It’s looming there.There.I can see it:Sickly yellow mountains of steamTowering in thunder, ripping asunderThe grounded scrub which fights, fails, and falls.I didn’t plan, I didn’t thinkAbout the storm driving nearer.I saw it, you saw it.The first strikes of rainMay have wet your faceBut you didn’t pause.You grabbed up your raincoatAnd forgot. Just forgot and ignoredThe billowing

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-90811087697364188152007-03-18T23:05:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:17:36.113-05:00

Ah, what times we had back then!Would that this elegiac songMight sweep us back around that bend,To when our parting made us strong.You left today with five farewells;I gladly matched embrace with hug.If I dumped snow way down on HellIt might have made the Devil shrug.But you, sweet you, kind you, sad youWere not inclined to give a smileWhen I gave all to tug it through.I ran in vain five parting

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-13930392357014221382007-03-14T23:41:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:13:25.229-05:00

I remember the first time I could feel. They poured the concrete around me, and as it set, I gained awareness for the first time, as though I was emerging from an eternal slumber. I felt invincible; I was one with the solid earth beneath me.I remember the first time I could stand. The beams of solid oak took on the skeletal impression of my rising bulk, and as wood met sky, I felt energy and

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-43436928671383657852007-03-14T23:37:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:17:47.995-05:00

This poem requires some background. This is the only poem that I've posted that was written for a school assignment, but I'm rather fond of it. The premise is that the Romantic poet Byron wrote this to my great-great-great-great-grandmother, and it was just discovered in some old papers. Byron spent much of his time in Italy, as did many poets of that era, even though he was British.To a Swallow

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-46193061811919119352007-03-14T23:25:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:20:23.129-05:00

For many weeks and many monthsI’d worn my boots to naught but runts.My legs and back drew pain.The night approached, to stress my wants,Since long ago began my huntsTo garner fame and gain.As drizzling rain soaked to my all,A shred of hope fought ire and gall,My heart grew stronger yet.The battlements and hulking wallOf castle grand and towers tall,Its windows glist’ning wet.Great oak and iron

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-269416146182692892007-03-12T22:48:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:20:47.419-05:00

This once-small nation shrugged away the yearsOf blood and smoke and bitter anthems sung,And faced a world with new-found might, sans fears.We dreamed of aiding all good folks far-flung.The power of the world was ours to wield.And sure we were that Heaven placed its trust,In our strong will, our might, our ores, our fields.We’d keep our strength and shrug off blow and gust.But years of strife in

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-51444852429433623632007-03-12T22:41:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:21:29.874-05:00

Orion soars in ready stance to fightThe march of Time’s vast hordes that will not cease.His knife on glimm’ring belt is swift and light,His bow held high and poised to win us peace.He sets so tall, not live but not deceased,And raises club and blade to free our handsFrom fetters set by Time, whose dread, obese,And rav’nous gut consumes our days on lands.With pow’rs that strive to match Time’s

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-89024577078906037522007-03-12T22:40:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:21:53.623-05:00

It lies, alone, with naught around,On boxes yellowed with age.Its plaster jaws agape in a frown,Its eyes both sharp with rage.A neck extends, supports a head,The clay dried out and cracked.Its silent bulk a dull, dark red.The broken tail lies slack.The fearsome beast of children’s talesBrought to its knees at lastNo more a threat than hardened bonesOf those from eons past.If clay and plaster

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-65752158170653665772007-03-12T22:36:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:22:08.754-05:00

There’s a ringing in my ears.Or maybe it’s just the stereo,Belting out its filth.Oh, can’t get enough of you so I think we should all get high and drunk and then I can drive you back to my place and you know what happens then and there’s nothing anyone can do about it –oh, they’ll try to catch me livin’ dirty, like the flee-ridden scum that I am but who cares, cuz I have more money than God (who

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-54028744589016931832007-03-12T22:34:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:22:18.790-05:00

A walk through the woods,Though it lasts just a while,Can show me the powerOf two lowly smiles.My world redefinedIn the speech of a phrase;My yearnings and fanciesFulfilled in a gaze.I’d stay here forever,While Earth fell to dust,If I knew you’d remain here,Come high gale or gust.I’d stay by your sideThrough night and through day,Watch leaves fall in autumnThen sprout new ere May.So, if you

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-82971509308688299142007-03-12T22:30:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:23:17.550-05:00

A flash of anger, white hot rage;With sultry ire, my ink melts page.My trust was felled by drunken hands,Ensnared in Godless battle plans.I offered her my castle highWhere demon’s drink could only tryIn vain to tear the walls away,Repelled for yet another day.It seems like only one day pastI strolled these woods and rich green grass.When peace had power for the day,This girl clad black in knight’

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3924528498461591122.post-807568956157877012007-03-12T22:21:00.000-05:002007-04-16T23:23:26.405-05:00

Well,It's been quite a while since I had anything like Facebook or a blog, because I simply had no reason. Now, though, I have been compelled to use it to showcase some of my writing, which is beginning to accumulate on pieces of paper scattered all over the place. Most of it's poetry, simply because of length, but I'll try to put some prose on here, as well. Word.Ihop

ihop unpublishedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11965775246761761090noreply@blogger.com0