Almost-familiar treelines blurred at the edge of my vision as I hurtled onward into the oblivion of lost self; I let truth’s heart-strings, my inner essence, flap like a rag doll trailing in the slipstream before it was ripped from my grasp.
"5 minute walks"
food, beauty, happiness.
A sailboat, a couple, and their little dog too.
Where your words matter.
Poems | England | Staffordshire | East Anglia | Northern Ireland | Nearing the end of the marathon that is The Needwood Poems.
you may ask yourself, well, how did i get here
The road to the forum is paved with good intentions.
Mostly unfinished stories primarily produced as a direct result of my association with the OC Writers Guild
A Clairvoyant Journey. One Life. One Quest. Find the Truth.
My Great Aunt Norah's wartime diaries, 1938-1948
fitting somewhere between family and fiction
Confessions of a Grammar Ghoul