By: James G. Piatt I devour the rocks that lie Beneath my wandering feet,The bushes with red flowersThat line the hungry brook,Then I digest nouns, verbs andPrepositions that paint the Landscape with edible poems. I listen to the grumbling earth, the…
By: Dr. James G. Piatt The burnt Willow trees On the smoldering edge Of the lazy torpid brook, Bend to the wind like a Nervous, anxious crowd Waiting for the night train, I watch in silence, feeling a Disturbance in the…
By: Dr. James G. Piatt In the room Where the broken Vase exists Dead roses weep In sorrow, Darkness Covers the Rumpled bed, Splintered glass The diary… unfinished, Too late… Lost in Shadows, A window Broken by False promises Of love…
By: Dr. James G. Piatt I smelled of Birch leaves, a Flowing brook, small pebbles and Youth. My heart was composed of Summer flowers, bumble bees, and The scent of timelessness, my mind Contained colorful ancient rhythms, New poems, and thoughts…