walking down the stairs in the house, I take a deep breath and start dinner. Blithe plays with his toys in the playpin and I check on him before yawning and turning the stove on.
All you need is faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie-dust!
I watch Blithe play while glancing over the job listings in the paper. As horrible as I might be at something, someone has to provide. Finding none, I sigh and set it down. I head into the kitchen and wrap my arms around Halee from behind.
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
Poetry is my cheap means of transportation. By the end of the poem the reader should be in a different place from where he started. I would like him to be slightly disoriented at the end, like I drove him outside of town at night and dropped him off in a cornfield. — Billy Collins