Haiku about Batman and the Joker.

A song heard on dead winds.

A brace of Triolets/contrasting.

I wrote this in 1991 when I was about 17. I have resisted any temptation to "improve" it. It’s a short poetic story recounting a real event in my life where I realized that I’m just not a killer.

I was born from a simple family. Simple to tell.

My biological father left me when I reached the age of four years.

"Robin, papa will go away." She said, holding my shoulders. I just watched her face. Increasingly gaunt face with pale white skin makes it increasingly looks like a vampire, if only to maintain my father quite long canine teeth. Then my eyes fell on a small line below the nose. And I also realize that it’s a nose hair hanging out of his nose.

You need to read to enjoy!

Singing.

Nature poetry describing the season of spring.

Country Tales.

Sounds, sights, smells of summer.