Lightly we tread in the woods Along a muddy path Fog blanketing the lake I hold my skirt To keep the hem dry You take

Lightly we tread in the woods Along a muddy path Fog blanketing the lake I hold my skirt To keep the hem dry You take
Headless He stood in front of me his neck a stump without a head. In his hand was a note on expensive stationary scrawled in
October brings Cool mornings Birthday celebrations Ghosts wondering If they should go To parties of those They used to know. Vampires trying To remember What
I’m honored to share a poem from my friend, Northern California writer, and Vietnam Vet, Richard Turton. The Eagle Cried The acrid smell of cordite
He turned to her A faint smile With depth And sharpness Yet when he turned It was as if He was only An image In
Full moon Brings on a party In half lit oak woods Possums and owls Look for the same Shadows With different purpose. Full moon Brings