(2013)
Burned flesh in the nostrils, napalm nightmare haunting the brain, destroys the rhythm of life.
got my surfboard out and rode the photon waves: googled out!
I want to plan and to defer to my future. But, I dream and am caught by my desire.
winter mirror mysterious prints at crosstime junction
haiku are headlines reporting mother nature the insight stories
Pick up those cups. Embrace those days full of flavors. Savor every single drop. Drink up.
Work defines the bee? Hives shoul… But entries belong on pages. Companies write mission memos. Souls pen living stages.
sky shapeshifters take infinite forms on the azure canvas.
I huffed my ego, by pouring me into it– She popped my balloon.
Snow melts. Waterfalls streaming rivulets off roofs slake the thirsty ground.
here is where we chirp, written lines known as tweeting- compressed ideas— Bill D. Johnston (@bedeejay) ...
He pretends to be a hard boiled eg… He actually has a soft yolk. Sometimes, when he acts tough, he is secretly fluid. If you get to know him, he removes
dropplets, dropping down, sinking slowly in soil are Mother’s helpers.
Monsters under our beds are phantoms in our heads. Gurus shout such ghosts at our ear… and fears.
gentle breeze on the beach– sudden rain
