poet’s always walk through puddles and long for railroad tracks……..blustery windy mornings and rain on their back, camouflaged sunsets and moons that seem to smile, poet’s love the sounds of night when nature starts to prowl……

poet’s love animals because they do not exclude people from their love………….birds in trees that speak to them as they cross paths……..lazy afternoons with a notebook and a pen…………….sudden awakenings in the night to capture a thought before it passes………………..lost loves and current loves and a few that have left a stain………..the heart of a poet must be very strong to endure a fair amount of pain……….pain that has been worn so long that it’s edges are rounded smooth……he need not even carry them but it reminds him of what he has been through……….

so you may come and walk with me, few have the stamina to carry on……………for i go where others fear to walk and learn this sacred song…….

”there are no beginnings there are no ends…….life is an extention of what has already been”

where poet’s walk………………..is muddy