Hey, this is my personal site.
Cool, isn't it? Like those photos?
Plenty more where they came from.
I can't claim credit for any of
these neat photos I download,
but they do reflect a lot about me,
what I like, for example...
The quotes aren't mine, either.
But you must know that? Or the
poetry, of course; I just like it,
all of it, a lot. You might say
this all reflects my original taste,
and it does, nothing more,
certainly nothing less....
I'm fifteen, in case you were
wondering. Brown hair, curly,
brown eyes. I'm not skinny. I
love the colour yellow, even though
I don't look good in it. I wear black
well. I love to read especially anything
by Jody Picoult, my very favourite
author, I've read all her books.
I love listening to music; Adele
and Lady Gaga the best of all. Rap
is OK but I hate country and
Western, sorry if you do; no offense.
Go ahead, you can ask a question,
I'll respond, no big deal....
Except, even if you're 18, tall and
good looking, don't bother asking
where I live, what school I go to,
my cellphone, that kind of shit,
because that's where you're
overstepping the boundaries
of the invitation....
New-fallen snow has
generously lavished itself
on the welcoming landscape.
No interstice in bark has
been left bare on winter
tree trunks, no hidden
nook nor cranny but has
been buttered with soft,
creamy snow, gleaming
under the crown of the
silver-clouded sky.
That soft and comforting
aspect belied in the
presence of an ill-tempered
wind leaping to bite exposed
and vulnerable flesh.
Silky skeins of powdery white
drape fluidly on the chill air
under the whipping wind.
Three robins flit about;
poor warm-weather birds,
grieving their hasty arrival.
The frozen banks of the
forest creek nicely mounded
in white curbs, directing the
traffic of Mallards, churning
the frigidly defrosted water,
paddling their way diffidently
upstream where the beaver
dam stands sentry guarding
the poplars not yet fallen
to the chiseled blazes that
mark their white presence.
