Just as her poetry can prove dark, Graye has a black thumb...and can’t keep plants alive. But, ever the dreamer, she meanders in her heart, penning petals on page, hoping to create a meadow. She is thrilled and grateful to have works published at both The Rye Whiskey Review and The Abyss
We're the Ezine dedicated to all things barroom. We are slightly off what others consider the norm and always the last to close the bar. If you prefer the local dive bar to the glitz of some overpriced club then you're our kind of people. So welcome grab a drink and enjoy.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
those poems By Keith Pearson
he handed her a book of poems. she leafed through the pages and said what is this it makes no sense. he said it’s not for now it’s for later...
-
near the on-ramp of I-10 in Crowley, Louisiana we unload our band equipment into the back of Gozzlebeck’s not the real name of the bar but a...
-
Diamond hair Bathe in bourbon and butter You are my Sunday prayer You are everything You are all You are life Rita S. Spalding has had poem...
-
there is a woman who is sometimes at my local café sitting outside with a glass of white wine and that’s not too unusual but i always notice...
No comments:
Post a Comment