“What is this? This impropriety? Here I am, the boulder barricading artistic flow just beginning to give when this, this! This commotion that tickles my very underarms, drains my strength and all ideas go up in puffs of smoke!”
Author Archives: P. S. Clinen
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Crow – The Forest Hermit
“Your decision to remain in this dusky locale bewilders me, then again, men are very strange creatures…”
Siberian Solitude
There was a crack. A sharp cut split the frozen ground. Its echo jettisoned itself from the source in an attempt to find something to reverb against. But there was nothing. And just as a pebble is plunged into a pool the waves would go on; perhaps they could carry themselves forever like the neverContinue reading “Siberian Solitude”
A Poem – Spiders On The Lawn
There are spiders on the lawn, But love, don’t look forlorn! Though their webs may be a tangled mess, Intent was to adorn! There are spiders on the lawn, But don’t look at them with scorn. Dew beads besetting silver ribbons Glowing in the dawn. There are spiders on the lawn, And one would thinkContinue reading “A Poem – Spiders On The Lawn”
P.S.Clinen 