A quick poem about Patsy Cline.
Leave a CommentBlogs, Poetry, and Writing from J.D. Mullenary Sr.
Blogs, Poetry, and Writing from J.D. Mullenary Sr.
Non-unique formed poetry
That voice on my brow which carries me through Stretches along my anachronistic mind Breaches through the softest cries and changes what was blue …
Leave a CommentWhat do I find myself to be Called upon with expectations, requirements of another world Finding fault that lies not inside but within the eyes…
Leave a CommentThose shakes, that uncertainty No day is worse than the first What will happen, what can’t be reversed The fear tears at you, drives itself…
Leave a CommentShe’s a collector of simple things The breakdowns, the sheared hair, the open vein She collects them all, nothing missed If owned by lessers and…
Leave a CommentHome is not walls, nor roof, floor, nor a set of french doors. Home is a state of mind. It’s a place we go to…
Leave a CommentI can’t recall a time, before Goleta the Goodland It lingers in the veins, this destination of decency It’s flavor a recollection of pleasant ideas…
Leave a CommentFeeling the electric lines and their sparkling chatter recalls a sense of self A reverting of time as memories of large hair, low jeans, and…
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