It might not be love I’m dreaming about but at least I’m not alone; that is until I wake up in the morning. A Mourning of Morning Wood… a constant reminder that I am all alone with my lust and my love. Maybe one day I will shout out TIMBER!!!

This poem is a conversation between a tree and earth.Humans have come to chop a tree which has provided them food ,shade .The tree complains to earth about this fate.

Woody – woodpecker.

The Three Little Pigs written as a newspaper article.

The calm flowing waters of the Current River in Missouri have been both a blessing and a bastard. The river gives and sometimes takes back.