.
Who are you? Not me, I know
You creep and crimp my edges fray,
An apparition of Dickens’ play—
Who are you? Not me, I know.
Push and prod and now you’re in,
Little sprite you always win—
Who are you? Okay, I know
Like tug of war we fought for place
But alas, O Spirit, you are my face.
.
.
Susan J. Cappellari resides in Fairfax, Virginia where she teaches Communication Studies courses at Northern Virginia Community College.
. When Prices Surge What happens to the prices when demand outstrips finite supply? Well, you’ll be darned to know...
The Sun The sun’s so conscientious She gives us every dawn--- Her rays across the treetops And then across...
Alec, this is a touching tribute to a camp coach/counselor. I had my own at Camp Paisano near Alpine, Texas.…
Margaret, I was thinking about the vast variety of Moms when I wrote it. Thank you for pointing that out…
Margaret, thank you for the read and remarks. First Presbyterian is still there. As is Emmanuel Episcopal, which started at…
Roy, considering the vast variety of Moms, I'm glad you put that wondering of the angels into your creation workshop…
Quite a memory, Paul. Having watched that cascade flow into an impressive geologic gash, and produce rain forest, must give…
Cute poem, Like me looking in a mirror.
Thank you.
Thank you. Exactly, that was my inspiration.
I appreciate it. Exactly, that was my inspiration.
Enjoyed your poem
Keep writing.
Thank you for sharing your poem.
Thank you.