The bluebird chirps of love tonight
As two form one in close embrace.
Love’s power strains beyond all might
To ease the ache of life’s hard race.
Vain words of hope he breathes this hour;
She sobs the more as daybreak comes.
A tyrant grasps them in his power,
And death will make them all succumb.
Hadassah wept, so Haman dies—
A consequence of God-heard prayer.
Yet no redeemer will arise
To save the sons of Isaac’s heir.
The couple clings for one last time.
Cold Auschwitz’s darkness lurks in sight
As now approach death’s gas and lime.
The bird’s song dies with dawn’s first light.

Every morning she arises to a routine feeling of despair. She picks up a pen to begin to write, attempting to cleanse her mind of self-deprecating thoughts that bite. She puts on a black t-shirt to match her mood, and applies mascara called “blackout” to accent her mysterious eyes through which she regularly broods. She goes to drink a cup of black coffee to experience a euphoric high, but crashes to a hampering low, as the day goes by.

She gets a cigarette to add to the blackening of her lungs.

When she arrives at school and talks to someone new, her hazel eyes become eclipsed by dilation, comparable to her first drug experimentation. After inevitable rejection, she resigns to a dark place when she feels like nobody cares. She always feels in the dark when confused about her affairs– mostly because she refuses to see the bigger picture, or perhaps is just hindered by daunting bouts of depression that cloud up her mind like a pre-storm sky in winter.

When she steps outside to view a magnificent sky, the earth is splendidly bright, but she can’t seem to relish and take flight. The sunset is breathtakingly beautiful, yet all her somber mind allows her to sight is the subsidence of light, and an array of fading colors against a horizon that she will never reach. This sense of emptiness runs deep– day-in and day-out through which she stares down the abyss in her yearning heart that pleads, “let me out!”

When night falls into a starry evening and she falls back asleep, she closes her eyes and still can’t see. Black is dismal like me.

Sometimes I question myself
When I begin to do things, I never done before
Is this maturity, am I bettering myself
Or is this post teen peer pressure where I following a flock
Who are you?
Sometimes you have to ask
Because people have motives
What are yours?
Is it to close every door left open by our ancestors?
Or, is it to break the frame
So that more people can have the opportunity to break free
From self arresting chains
Don’t confuse it, if you don’t use it you definitely lose it
So when will you change
From using words for gossip to creating beautiful stories
Filled with your soul and provide it
To other people as a real life object or testament
Of fall down, get back up, keep trying
Now tell me, who are you?
Are you the pen that continue to poison our history
With ignorance, disloyalty and murder
Or were you just the instrument of crime to put us down further
Well, now is the your time to stand for something
Other then your own selfish needs of fulfillment
You can become the pen that will one day write our future
Therefore, today I ask who are you?

Butterflies, goose bumps, even chills,
When I’m with you that’s how I feel.
Holding you tight oh so close,
Being a part of your life is what I love the most.
My eyes sparkle, my face glows,
How much you mean to me you’ll never know.
I love being a part of your world,
Everyday I feel like the luckiest girl.
You’re my man, my best friend,
The bond we have is impossible to end.
Deep thoughts, secrets told,
Sharing these feelings will never get old.
Being apart for a day feels like years,
You have helped me overcome my fears.
I love you like there’s no tomorrow,
Where ever you go I’ll follow.
You’re my soul mate, my better half,
You always know how to make me laugh.
Each fight made us who we are today,
The bond is stronger now nothing can stand in our way.
Thank you for loving me and everything you do,
But mostly thank you for being you.

Metal pieces,
The ocean breeze,
An open door,
As if to say, “Hello.”
The blood of man.
Stood up there,
And through his lips spoke to the world,
But throught the world is where his words now lay scatered.
Time passes by,
An old man died,
But not soon to be forgotten.
For in this man,
There was no fear,
To take a stand and to be heard.

A little piece of dirt,
I see you, dried up in the scorching sun,
Waiting for a drop of rain,
To soak away the cracks and pain.

A little piece of land,
With dirt and bugs a little bland,
No vegetation growing in this earth,
I wonder what it’s worth.

A little piece of me,
Deserted from the life I know,
Is this the way I want to live,
No experiences to help me grow.

Moisture for the dirt,
Water for the land,
Emotion for my life,
And the will to take a stand.

All the little pieces,
Are essential for the whole,
All the little life experiences,
Are essential for your soul.

Give yourself a little dream,
Take a little glance,
At the life you’ve left out to dry,
Give it another chance.

Each night each moon,
Will come and close the afternoon,
And I will still be there in the shadows,
Awaiting my time to shine.

Each day, each sun,
Will close the night and darkness there is none,
Casting my shadow of the day,
What will I become.

I listen to my soul when all is still,
And it tells me I am real,
It tells me I am doing right,
Each sunny day, and moonlit night.

Sickness is a sad thing,
Watching the color fade from your face,
Wondering how your yesterdays are,
Did you live it to the fullest,
Or was it just a mistake, regret, or nothing at all,
It could be today,
It could be tomorrow,
I’m not looking for the sorrow,
But if there never comes a tomorrow,
I want you to be satisfied with the life you lived,
Even though you still hold so much life,
It’s slowly slipping from you,
Somewhere out there, there is more to life for you,
Even though I prepare myself,
I’ll never be ready,
I got one brother and preparation will never be enough for that day,
Although words go unspoken amongst us,
I hope you know that there is a plan for you,
And if it be that you go before you want to,
You’ll forever hold a place in my heart,
The memories left will keep us connected,
And the life you left here will know your legacy.

To move without effort
Elegance, ease
Wind tossed and light
Sweet spray of the sea
Perfect or poor
To wait? To leave?
Decide; abide
With a quivering lip
As the blue ocean sighs

Sitting here glancing out the window,
I see a cow in the field.
I watch the lonely cow grazing in the meadow,
Chomping away at the freshly grown grass.
It is not quite a gloomy day, yet not sunny either.
I wonder what that cow’s thinking and what her life story would be like.
Would it be a story of sorrow, survival of the fittest, bliss, a memory, or nothing at all?
As the cow wanders off, my mind drifts again.
All these thoughts keep running through my mind endlessly, unexplainable.
What is out there in this world for me?
I’ve seen so much wrong that I don’t know what’s right.
Unanswered questions.
Does life have no purpose, or is there a meaning to all these thoughts?
There is now an empty grazing field, no more lonely cows.
Just trees and no sunlight, now a gloomy day.
Does this mean something?
The thoughts are slipping away like the clouds and now I see a light.
I shall follow the road untaken and make my life my memories.
It won’t pass me by.

My girl asks Mommy what’s the time? and I say
Time to sled into a snowpile, play
Make believe or cookie cop or
End the day leisurely bathing with
Unimaginable legions of friends

What time is it Mommy when the Big Hand touches twelve?
Time to stand up tall, to bat,
Stretch out long
Like a cat:

Mommy, the Big Hand is on the nine,
And the little hand is on the twelve, Mommy
Can I call someone? anyone, to tell them the time
And I say it’s late but I wonder

Can I teach you
Do I reach you
Can I wish for you
Trying to rush you from bath to bed but then
Stories drag out the decision
And the light stays on

And what time will it be
When I stop asking and forget that I ever did ask, and then
Ask while you write this, why are you writing this? And
The mother raises her eyes to her beloved to
Tell her how she looked
Asleep, oval face and long brown hair
Like a fallen angel, streaming dark across the white pillow

They whirled and flurried from the sky.
They came to me in the middle of the night,
some silently, some clumsily bumping into things.
They stuck their tongues in my mouth.
Some slunk along the edge of the river bank
like feral cats. Some ran ahead of me
like those bumpkins in Pamplona.
They flicked their beautiful tail feathers.
They took things personally and sulked or pouted.
They undressed and they got dressed.
They spoke to strangers and took up with them.
Some recovered from one trauma or another.
Some did not. One saved somebody’s life.
They fed me. They traveled with me.
They ventured out of the woods
and nibbled dead meat beside the highway.
They whispered in my good ear.
They scuttled down the street
behind cars and muscular pickups.
They got taken in by shysters.
Some went off somewhere to find themselves.
They danced around in skimpy outfits.
Some slowly became themselves
as if they had no idea what else to do.

None of this will hasten
or delay that dazzling flash
astonishingly brief on the horizon.
Some of these children have never seen
a river or an orchard or a pea pod
before today. Poppies and impatiens
that make you think “cinnamon”
instead of “cinnabar” perhaps
are in simultaneous bloom
with tiger lilies and chicory
along the road and bachelor buttons
and clematis near the porch.
The children are without dread.
They investigate every crevice
for the golden apples they’ve heard
about. Only this morning
a man in khaki drove a green tractor
through “that protected section
yonder” beyond which coal is being stripped.
Two starlings chase a sparrow
veering crazily but not dropping
the bread crust from its beak.
Not one detail here depends
on any other, not even the boy
in the chocolate and lemon polo shirt
about to discover a handful of bees.

The night was made for romance.
In the night our two hearts dance.
Under the stars our lips touch.
In the garden your embrace means so much.

The night was made for love.
Our hearts cooing like a white dove.
Your eyes sparkling like diamonds so white.
I love you darling with all my might.

The night was made for caring and trust.
And darling, God made this night for us.

The jobs that I’ve held have been various,
My character, sometimes nefarious,
Not normally funny,
Enough to make money,
When nude, women think I’m hilarious.

Sea surge sluicing
Salt Citrus
Over the tongue
Pale seeds
Like transparent pebbles,
Slipslide longways,
Settling in sea algae–
Cool dark underworld green down.
Upsideways,
Yellow-bright sun pinwheels on high,
Over our celadon haven for nests.

When your away
My eyes cry
Tiny little tears
On my pillow
I feel so alone
When your not
Here
I wish you
Would come back
Home
Where you need
To be
Because I feel
So Lost
Without you

Richard Rosen

Today is the same as yesterday.
Tomorrow will be the same as today.
Misery pushes open the door of desperation.
A lull descends upon demeanor, and hopes quickly dissipate.
Soon becomes an afterthought.
Time passes.
Tomorrows come, and yesterdays pass with no change in incident.
Time is no friend of irrevocable circumstance.
Spirit is broken, and all becomes submissive.
Only to immortalize that which is influential.
It’s this time, all times, all ways. Ad finem.
To the end.

Seasons change from summer to fall
Winter coming with an early frost
Plants start to shrievel up and turn brown
Grass soon turns into hay
Trees begin to lose all the leaves
Which turned such pretty colors in the fall.

People grow and change year to year
A baby learns its first word
Two new parents so brilliantly excited
A young boy learns to ride his bike

Like everything does in the cycle of life
People may grow, things may change
We can choose to accept it or run scared

Life is meant to be lived to the fullest

The weather might not all be sunny
You might not always wear a smile

Laughter may never come

Connections may be lost between good friends

In the end, one thing is constant
That is which we call, love.

You can read more of Courtney’s work at: http://allpoetry.com/smurf

I cant suppress all these memories. Why would I try?
The past, like a songbird perched matter-of-factly on my window sill.
Not to be neglected. Passed down, recorded, each one.
On blank pages are penned an account of my life.
Etched on my brain for eternity.

Each one so vivid, like a beacon in the darkest of night.
They are replayed on a stage set in my mind.
I can return again and again to each scene, or not. Prolonged or fleeting; or not at all.
I am the keeper of these abstract thoughts.

There is no moderation. Only anything and everything.
Like sacred writings, I will read until my senses are full.
Until each perception has been nurtured,
all my impressions have been completely and entirely saturated,
every sensation has been manipulated absolutely.

They will continue on their voyage. There is no lull.
They peak, and my intellect becomes intoxicated. They have come to anchor now.
A hushed calm occupies my will. All reflection recedes.
Back to the recesses of my intellect. But only for a brief intermission.
Nestled among exaggerations,secrets, and misinterpretations.

Quote by Emily Dickinson

Poem from Jill Eisnaugle – Ship of Gold

Guest Conversation with Jill Eisnaugle
Here is a little about Jill from her website (http://www.authorsden.com/jillaeisnaugle):

“I began writing short stories due to a second grade school assignment in 1988; I began writing poetry as the result of a seventh grade school assignment in 1994. Since that school assignment in 1994, I have written over 1,300 poems and have achieved a great deal of personal and professional success, as a result.

My biggest influences in life are God, my family and my second and sixth grade teachers, Mrs. Regina Chaney of Jackson, Ohio and Mrs. Sharon Needham of Oak Hill, Ohio. Both teachers played a vital role in the path I am pursuing, today.

My writing inspirations are Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allan Poe, and R.L. Stine, whose “Goosebumps” children’s book series (combined with the fun-nature of Sharon Needham’s Reading class), took me from being a “fair-weathered” reader to someone who has a much greater appreciation for the world of imagination that exists between two book covers.”

Short Story prompt: Lighting the Streetlight Way- http://www.storyinstitute.com/2008/09/17/short-story-topics-lighting-the-streetlight-way/

During the editing process, part of our conversation with Jill was shortened for time. Jill wanted to make sure that we included this important piece to the posting and the notes…

“As a postscript to my interview, I would like to extend a personal thank-you to Marc Sherman, FM Operations Manager at Clear Channel Houston and afternoon disc jockey at SUNNY 99.1 (KODA-FM). Over the course of the last four years, as my friend, my mentor, my expert poem reader, and one of my biggest supporters (both in my life and my writing), Marc has played an integral part in my success. Thank you, Marc; I could not possibly have been as successful as I have been without your support! You’re simply the best.”

Running Time: 33 minutes 25 seconds

The play button (a large triangle) appears below this summary. Depending on your internet speed, the podcast should play immediately once you click on this button…

I looked into your eyes and saw mine;
The countenance on your face sent me traveling back in time;
The love that poured from your heart reminded me of another;
It was the same love I had shared with my mother;
On a hot, muggy, August morn my mother went away;
My age was young and tender, but I can still clearly remember that day I woke to a world that suddenly felt enormously big and round;
And I, like the tiniest ant, now seemed to small to ever be found;
I wondered how or if I would again have a place where I belong;
For my mother was gone, my life no longer had its song;
Then I woke early one magnificent morn to a brand new world;
One filled with hopes and dream meant just for this little girl;
So, I dug in my heels and went searching for all I could discover;
Eager to see what possibilities lay ahead, each I wanted to uncover;
The road I traveled surely was not easy;
There were many dips twists bumps and curves;
Many times I nearly quit, many times I nearly lost my nerves during those dark scary moments when it didn’t feel much like i was winning;
But with an iron will and soul full of hope, I leaped in and sent myself spinning on a journey with no light, no map, not direction sign
Just sheer determination to find the life destined to be mine;
Though I’m much older, there still remains much more work to, and on the very top of my list was to write this poem just for you;
To leave a message that I pray you’re always keep close in mind;
For as you travel your life’s journey, you may face a string of endless struggles;
But if you refuse to give up, refuse to quit each and every time;
One bright early morn, you too, will rise beneath a sea of stars to find that we not only share a story with a familiar beginning, but with an Ending Of A Similar Kind.

Visit E.D. Arrington’s website for more information on her writing: http://www.edarringtonbooks.com/

As long as there is love, I will cherish you.
As long as there is life, I will love you.
As long as the stars shine above, I will want you.
As long as there are waves in the ocean, I will need you.
As long as there is heaven above, there will always be our love.

Love can sometimes be fresh.
Love can sometimes be new.
Love can sometimes make you happy.
And sometimes make you blue.

Love is the light that radiates from your eyes.
Love is your image floating in the skies.

Love is true.
And darling, the only love for me is you.

A knot forms in my throat
Try to swallow it, it’s stuck
Eyes holding their breath
To conceal tears
The blood courses through my veins
Cold shivers up spine and across body
Feet bounce impatiently
Heart drops to the pit of my stomach
Wanting,
Needing to release anxiety
No one to turn to nowhere to hide
Face in hands
Letting the tears fall slow at first
Gathering speed becoming continuous
Heaving deep ragged breaths
Sounds of my cries shaky with anguish
Can’t take this much longer
Pain and suffering of love and hate
Tasting the iron in my mouth
Blood finding its way out
Even blood wishes to escape
So I let it run
Wanting to see how far it will travel
Seeping from the corners of my lips
Warmth tracing down my chin then my neck
Looking up towards the so named heavens
Cursing its glory and gold
If there really was someone up there
Wouldn’t he stop my blood from running?
Wouldn’t he stop me from dieing?
I get no response my limp body
Drained of its red fruit falls to the floor
Cold hard linoleum offers no comfort.
No outreaching hands of pity
Instead the dark skin peeled hands emerge
From the creases of the tile and trace their shapeless
Tendrils across my body
Without my blood I feel nothing I stare at the ceiling
Motionless and alone as hands of the dead
Pull me under to the inner core
Of death, I sink into the blackness
Eyes remain open staring up above
A constant reminder to the gold and glory,
I’m down here waiting for you to finish my story.

Note: Due to the length, this poem is not eligible for our Poetry Contest. However, we wanted to share it nonetheless…

There comes a point in life when we all grow up
The loss of innocence,
Promises,
Heartbreaks,
Loss of loved ones,
High school,
Graduation,
It’s all a part of life,
Some may experience more than others but it’s what makes you, you
Don’t lose your morals and faith for the pleasure of others,
Keep your ground and hold your head high,
Show people you can be who you want to be and still succeed,
Sometimes there will be a fork in the road,
Take the path in which you feel you will succeed because if worse comes to worst
There’s always construction, you can make it back on that path of triumph,
It’s never too late,
You’ll learn from your mistakes and become more cautious as you continue on the path of life.

What is a dream?
The word dream is scrumptious,
Like the cotton candy held in the palm of your hand,
Realistic and loud,
Like the sticky situation if held to long,
Self knowledge weighing on you like a twenty-eight pound brick dropped from the sky,
Landing in the palm of your hands,
Preservation, the key to the long roads you’ll take,
Preparing yourself for what may or may not be,
Most satisfying to the mind like a cold winter’s day and a cup of hot chocolate,
Your future of life, or the death of your dignity,
Your goals set before you like a steaming brownie with a perfectly round scoop of vanilla ice cream on top, most delicious when reached for, your dream!

Derek Walcott

Just foolish, thinking I can be a perfect man
Look at my face masked wit incorrect thoughts
Or this body of mine… that has been bathed in self ignorance
Listen to the words I speak from the depth of my mouth that are not genuine but are instead dishonest and misleading
Or the loss look in my eyes… smothered with life’s tragedies
I’m just foolish, for there is only one who’s perfect
Why do I ache for approval from relatives and friends …, or, lust for acceptance from foreign faces
Where did I misplace my self respect, or bury my integrity
What would make me sacrifice my inner potency, for shame and guilt
Most times I feel lost in this abandoned house known as my Life
Unsheltered from self-hatred, adverse depression and redundant let downs
Yet, I find myself looking for a savior
Looking for someone to feel sorry for me
Yearning for compassion…, starving for unbeneficial pity
Chasing a mirage of a Perfect man
Left me scorn, drowning in a sea of hatred
For I forgot to accept myself, forgot to believe in myself… but most of all I forgot to love myself
I forgot to tell myself that as long as I give it my all

I’m am perfect, perfectly me as I can be

Imagine my inner walls crumbling,
Dreaming the impossible,
Unrefined thinking like a child’s world,
I am already great,
And my greatest wish is to become me.

The walls are crumbling,
Dreaming is inevitable,
We are all children learning and growing,
We are all great,
It is my turn now to become me.

Blythe gale,
Peasants to hail,
Why canst thou fling free?
Soar over the churning sea in wild ecstasy?
Must you always salt my soars?
Bitter struggle tasted by scores
Inflicted by you, the curses rebound
Upon the shipwrecked Sound
Enslaving master and taskman alike
Oh, wild spirit, why not burst the dike
And fly home?
To roam
Frree

Think about your imagery. Watch the news. Tune into the weather channel. Determine the intensity or calmness or your weather…and, write… Remember poems are simple, but have all the power of a story in a little, tiny space, kind of like that afternoon shower. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

The coral around the lively darting creatures allow some to blend, others to hide, and the rest to stand out prominently. Where would you fit as a fish? Do you clean up after the others? Do you provide the color commentary to the daily life of blowing bubbles? Or, do you gobble up the lonely little ones with your large, protruding teeth because it is just the natural cycle of things…Decide on your fish connection and develop the details in verse.

Remember poems are simple, but have all the power of a story in a little, tiny space. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Where do you go as the rockets rush upward? What experiences do you remember when you see, then hear the small and larger explosions erupt in front and around you? When do you watch the visions? What tunes linger as the timed capsules shoot upward one after another, after another?

Use the rush of emotions and intensity in your work. Remember poems are simple, but have all the power of a story in a little, tiny space. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Describe the colors…the swirls…the depths of the hues as they rangle around the cane…Describe the tastes…the sweet, sugary, high-energy, off-the-wall, bouncy goodness that accompanies the treat…Describe the behavior of the children…the excitement that mounts…the rush rebounds again and again…the crash crumbles until the next bit of stripped candy is tasted…

Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Well, maybe you remember, maybe you don’t…that first day in kindergarten was important to your continued growth. That first day was important to forming many, many impressions on what would be a long or short learning career.

What do you remember? Were you a little frightened? Were you excited? Were you a little of both? Write about the emotions. Write about the friends you established…write about the relationships you established and lost. Remember poems are simple, but have all the power of a story in a little, tiny space kind of like the little cubbie you had for all of your stuff. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Here is our view of the big day…share and enjoy…

Kindergarten Starts Today

Kindergarten starts today.
I am ready.
New people and places.
Don’t need my teddy.
Enjoy learning new things.
Remember my lunch please.
Grab your backpack and supplies.
And some band aids for my skinned knees.
Reading and writing will be fun.
Then at recess, we can run and jump.
Earn good grades and stay out of trouble.
No worries, I’m growing up.

By: John E. Murray, III

Check out this poem or leave a comment at: Kindergarten Starts Today

Or maybe I’ll go back to bed…

By: Teri A. Murray

Recall the intensity and the intensity will return in force. Remember poems are simple, but have all the power of a story in a little, tiny space. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

To read more about recalling your muse, see our newsletter at: http://www.storyinstitute.com/2008/07/05/ramblingverses-newsletter-episode-i-july-2008/

Ask yourself questions if the words to reflect the intended interactions and visions… Does your tree have leaves or needles? Is your forest established or newly planted? Is it Spring or Fall? Is the trunk smooth or bumpy? Where is your forest? How special is your tree? Be creative and look for symbols and intensity within the photo to paint you own picture in words…Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

From the tinny music of the bright trucks to the 31 plus flavors of your local cooling station, you enjoy the variety and churning goodness of every visit. Think of those days when you were a child or the times when you had children of your own. Remember the excitement of getting that first cone, that first sundae, that first new flavor. Remember poems are simple, but have all the power of a story in a little, tiny space. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Do we enclose ourselves inside? Do we let the light in? Or, do we put up shades to shelter us even more? How large are the windows in your life? Are the opened…ever? Pull the emotions and connect the many. Be creative and look for symbols and intensity within the photo to paint you own picture in words…Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

With what are you lining paths? Are you lining your own paths better than the ones you create for others? Think about those paths and refocus your writing to pull out the substance, the material, and intentions of the walkways. Remember poems are simple, but have all the power of a story in a little, tiny space. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

If you have experienced those who deliver on their promises whether it is an individual, business, or organization, think about what integrity means to them and how it translates to you. Create your vision and tell us your story in verse. Remember poems are simple, but have all the power of a story in a little, tiny space. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Where do you stand on the staircase of life? Do you go up? Down? Stop on multiple floors? Or, decide on another path to reach your destination? Pull the emotions and connect the two. Be creative and look for symbols and intensity within the photo to paint you own picture in words…Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

What tethers you to the familiar? What or who do you trust as your beacon? Pull the emotions and connect the two. Be creative and look for symbols and intensity within the photo to paint you own picture in words…Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

When you put words to this topic, think of your successes in achieving an equilibrium amongst the masses as too many think of the short comings they have observed or experienced.

Create your vision and tell us your story in verse. Remember poems are simple, but have all the power of a story in a little, tiny space. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Choose your path. Create your vision and tell us your story in verse. Remember poems are simple, but have all the power of a story in a little, tiny space. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

By: John E. Murray, III