We don't make a sound as we look into our own minds to find out where death comes from...

This poem is about realizing you are asleep and taking over your own dream world - only to be awakened by the clock.

This poem was inspired by the thought of a young nun who struggles with worldly passions. Even though she is not wholly innocent, she appears to be (or at least that is how the theory of poetry works here); and she is "good".

This poem was inspired by my innermost thoughts on how men treat women. Most men I have had the opportunity to become involved with, have caused me to feel this very strongly. I watch people and see how they treat one another. Someday, hopefully, I might be pleasantly surprised to learn that not everybody is this way.

I wrote this poem after staring at a painting in my doctor's office and trying to imagine what the artist was trying to get across. A young girl was standing on the edge of a pond under a willow right about dusk. It struck me in a profound and sad way, so I tried to voice what the artist tried to portray.

I have long been fascinated by the Japanese haiku form of 5- 7- 5 syllables in three lines. Written in English, these cannot translate into Japanese directly. However, we can attempt the idea of encapsulating a thought, an incident in a few words. The Japanese masters always included a 'seasonal word' which told their readers which season was being written about. Even if you are not interested in the form itself, try reducing your poems to the minimum words necessary to carry your idea. It is a salutary exercise, and has a good effect on your verse.

Of course, you make your readers work harder at understanding the poem, but a good poem is like a good painting - it reveals itself gradually, sometimes over years. If you want to be explicit, write a text- book and forget about poetry! This poem pulls together random things I saw or felt during the year - winter to winter, and hopefully conveys some idea of the season.

This poem is about how people sometimes just don't understand how you feel. Sometimes you could act completely different then how you feel.

This poem is about a dream that I had - I was playing with a ginger cat that I felt something strange for and then when I walked out into a group of people there was a man with red hair that I knew was the cat I had been stroking only moments before.

Unusual I know, but the poem was so vivid that it warranted a poem.

This is a poem about the heightened consciousness which occurs when drifting into sleep, a time when anything is possible.

A grimly humorous rant about death on the roads - not human death (as if that wasn't bad enough) but animal eradication which is a thriving sport in every country in the world where wildlife and automobiles come together. Please Drive Carefully