A spent coin, worn and grubby
sharp edged, dull faced
green stained
date rubbed by so many hands
dropped rolled and spun
I've come to rest
face up to the morning sun

Been writing a bit of poetry again. I like this one.

Today my beautiful Daughter turns one.

Thank you for a year of joy, love, helpless horror and amazing experiences.


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...there is the issue of creativity and opportunity coming out of restrictions. Like restrictions on form imposed by some forms or poetry.

So WoW is like a haiku. :)

Salt cannot be a
seasonal reference as
it's a seasoning

A touch does not distract,
a new mind from its intense focus.
Her skin, her ears, her eyes
inhale the world.
But the touch of my finger
does not draw her attention to me.
It merely spreads her joyous smile,
exhaled over a world
of sensation.