Ode to a woman who marches. Her hands oiled for sensual touch. A neck and shoulders massaged She marches on a cold day A mother knows Peace here Drinks coffee over chaos A sister stands to face opinions She feels her comrades futures grey Lifting banners scrawled words on placards in backroom... Sign in to see full entry.
tales from the murky splurge:
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About this Blog
Poetry is about expression of thought. Sometimes the best work is the kind of stuff that just leaps up from within our soul. I write a lot about the murky splurge...This defines a place where we are are given the freedom to bare our souls in word but understand it is between the lines where most truth resides, In a world which has an abundance of love for all to share there is a whirlwind stirring. these words come out of a storm, but reader of my blog, please see although we write about many things, we may just mean another...well that is what the villagers said..... have fun.
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