The Smoky Poet

The Pitmaster, Poet & Storyteller

August 16

My nascent, parsimonious Summer.

By on August 16, 2014

Each Summer morning, nascent words I skim. Letters are budding, sentences forming. Through my parsimony, papers I've trimmed for digital words, I have never heard. Across my phone screen my thumbs are flicking, all the while longing for ink stained fingers, resorting instead to silent clicking, once again I turn a digital page. All of my news, I have aggregated. Within my smartphone, I...

An Ode to Swiffer

By on August 16, 2013

S is for Swiffer, don't call it a mop. When I also sweep, I come out on top. I love using you, to help clean my floors. Friends they are amazed, such an easy chore. Faithful is our love, you ruffle my dust. Everyone knows, you're my cleaning must. Ready to explode, you're my dynamite....