The Snarkadelic Word Smith Awaits the Penguin Whisperer

poems from abundant sparks and personal archeology

The Snarkadelic Word Smith Awaits the Penguin Whisperer Standing in the dark haze of the alley way. Every breath sends a chilly fog into the night. The stars long since blotted out of the sky by manufactured neon bulbs flickering in their inconsistent rhythms like an erratic heartbeat spooked by unknown sounds and thoughts unchained … Read moreThe Snarkadelic Word Smith Awaits the Penguin Whisperer

Crissy

poems from abundant sparks and personal archeology

Crissy Sometimes zen exists on a deserted beach in a crowded city where once stood heroes of the military variety. Even a place of strife exists for transformation. Peace is always possible. It exists inside the soul. The reminders are everywhere.   I wrote this in 2013 while sitting out on Crissy Field in San … Read moreCrissy