I'm hoping I will be motivated to put some of my poems, prose and short stories onto this page. I still scribble things on scraps of paper... still bleed some of my poisoned soul in the form of ink on paper. The scraps get lost, or tossed. And I sometimes wonder if it would ease my mind if I still held them. I could tell myself:
     "Look, you've covered this, MOVE ON. You have other wounds, quit picking at that one."
     The problem is... those scraps of thoughts and feelings seem like bandages that are stained in ink that might as well be blood. Reminders of an old wound. They get lost, and I let them stay that way.

I will try not to torture you, (or myself), with endless dark, self-absorbed, depressing rantings. I've also lost scraps that were captured smiles or giggles. So I will probably have a few of those stored in the wonderful art library of


Welcome to my section of the library.

Even though the writer strays from the darkness now and then, it is doubtful his endeavors in the 'light' will be about butterflies or angels, kittens or puppies, babies or bunnies... though any of those may at any time be eaten in one of his poems or stories.



My Photo Manipulation Gallery.