Peachy Prince

The Muse swirls in, her rainbow scarfs shimmering.  

She whispers and is gone.  Catch it if I can.

That’s the solo part of writing.  The inhaling of words, the exhaling through the pen.

Collecting them, reading them, refining them, that all begins to engage the village.

Once I decide to publish some of the poems, I am helpless without the assistance

of others.  I am so grateful to all who helped me launch “Mother, May I?”