a world turned so cold
the sound of tumbling pebbles
washed up on the shore
a world turned so cold
the sound of tumbling pebbles
washed up on the shore
dressing for the cold
my favourite green sweater
the one with the darn
no chorus this morn
the sun casts an icy stare
on still-sleeping birds
during this cold snap
our car sits encased in ice
fingers turning blue
a cold draft playing
curling dust in oosy drifts
time for a spring clean
Musings from an insignificant writer
more that just a path
A Journal of Poetic Observations
Pictures and Poetry, Picture Poetry
My Journey on the Lonely Road to Deaf Acceptance
Ellen Grace Olinger
Just words and more words, as they come of their own accord.
Rivers and Rural Communities : ँ : at the Heart of Travel
A Greek Matinee: my manuscript. . . Tattlings, Scribblings, Brain Expanding, Bits & Bobs as Summer rolls on