He’s still here.  I’m calling the police On your brother, father to your nephew and niece Who is mentally ill, drugged-out, the homeless...

There once was a very old house Of 3000 feet squared A sweet little yard and a mighty big tree That reached the clouds, the children said...

The girls were there, five in all, Giggling, snarking, being 13 The house was set, the games were planned All was well in birthday-land.

The Lament - A Poem Every time you talk to me i sit quiet, seem to stare like I don't hear, like i don't care...

She raised her voice to a shout, unnecessarily “Can you hear me now?” she enunciated airily.