railroad days
freight hopping
cigarette smoke
filled
lonely box cars
rolling
clattering
empty liquor
bottles
back and
forth with
rocking
rolling
track steam
engine soot
from here to there
from there to here
grey faced
bib coverall
spirit broken
old men
from dusty
unpainted
hobo jungle
tin cup
coffee empty
lost souls
going home
gone
since
the old dirt road
was paved.
We are all just babes in the woods.
A deaf person who has been pleasantly stuck in a dimension between dream and reality, where my sign language turns into written poems.
reading, ranting and reviewing
Author / Activist / Healer
In search of spirituality
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Words To Think On
Welcome to a blog about our outdoor experiences.
Poetry written by Katrina Cain
poetry/poem, essays, writing everything I adore or not so:-)
As I navigate through this life ...
Live A Visible Life Whatever Your Health
A Storyteller’s Dream
Literary Pasta, made with aromatic earnestness , served by an overthinking mind.
journeys of the mind and body
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