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[writers’ block]   It should be, must be there inside it’s shown itself many times in the past sometimes when it was least expected. But lately, it’s gone underground hiding so well that I almost believe it was never really there.   But I’ve seen what it created I marvel at those works and wonder where did the ideas come from what creative urge spawned them I search the depths and ask again what is the fountain’s source?   At times it is a free-flowing river ideas and words b

Let us sit together with our stories and mine from them the wisdom of the ages to create peace and understanding between all the peoples of the world.   Let us sit together with our hearts open and our minds aware that we were all born in pain, grown in hardship, and forged in the fiery furnace of everyday life.   Let us use our shared mitochondrial DNA, a gift from our First Mother, as a glue to bind us in our common heritage and for the sustenance of hope, truth and love.  

Obeying their genetic code tiny spiderlings launch themselves from the maternal nest, from their safe place and out into the unknown.   They fly at the end of gossamer threads putting their fate in autumn breezes or gales to take them to a safe landing where they can make their own home.   But there are dangers in this leap of faith. Will they land on a nearby blade of grass a leaf, or in a garden, a tree, on some man-made structure far away?   Or will the fickle winds of fat

Life goes on after death but in a different form the death of every organism opens the possibility of life for others   (c) Linda Visman...

If…   If we live in love: We won’t want to hurt others We want what is best for all and We want what is best for ourselves.   We won’t...

Photo Credit: Marc Zimmer, Unsplash I wonder about you, Time –   Do you run like a river? A stream that makes its way through land and...

I stare at the window where light reflects back at me see the spots and stains left by blowflies and rain. Behind the glass lies the...

(A Shakespearean sonnet)   Those lines upon your face are nothing new; Well-earned are they o’er many years of time. They tell the tale...

I’m sitting in my loungeroom chair Thinking about the world’s indirectness; Reading the paper, trying to understand All about political...

- a Revanche poem -    They drive out where the ground is rough, through mulga, scrub and spinifex, past dry creek beds and rocky tors,...

You tear me down but you will not destroy me no matter how hard you try –   and you do try with all you have but it will not be enough.  ...

You amble across the road in the middle of town as though you own it. Cars brake, wait in line, people stare and point but you just...

Who lives here? Welcome to My Poetry Blog! Hello! My name is Linda. I have been a writer in some form for most of my life, with many...

Can we draw the earth around …         The greed this world encourages,         that takes from the weak without remorse;         The...

I am not the first to rail against the passing of unforgiving Time, the hours and days that fly away so quickly   I am not the first to...

The newly growing forest is a thicket of green around its mother tree bright and leafy fresh   stark contrast to dry-browned branches and...

Twelve chimes mark the end of day and the beginning of the next. Although Man’s own construct Time seems almost mystical measuring our...