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Barefoot and Wild

  Oh it is not the color of my skin You will never date again Foolish boy my kind comes in all hues   It is my sarcastic grin Passion that erupts from with in You poor man, I was born to play blues   Oh I have my books and my chores when they are done I want more My eyes were dripping with clues    They have fire, they spark you should have known from the start I'd end up dancing in woods with no shoes    

Latest Posts

Welcome 2021

After Taste

Poem: Music of the Blood (full poem)

A QUICK CAMPING TRIP TO GALVESTON STATE PARK (Before the Corona-virus)

Ghost

R-Pod Pity Party

Poem: A Salt Seller

Poem:Sparrow

Wild Woods

Poem Children of The Storm