| Author: | Debra Kraft | ISBN: | 9781301714773 |
| Publisher: | Debra Kraft | Publication: | January 27, 2013 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | Debra Kraft |
| ISBN: | 9781301714773 |
| Publisher: | Debra Kraft |
| Publication: | January 27, 2013 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
Questions, unquestioned discoveries, and answers in parable and rhyme….
This collection records a journey starting with a 1960s retrospective and the first man on the moon, moving to a new millennium welcomed in with a terrorist spin, family crises, and the games we humans play…knowingly or not.
“Questions, floating like whispers, quietly sifted like sands tumbling through my fingers , softly gliding along the lines that define me, the marks that speak my name, then taken by the winds, a million tiny grains called to other places, to other hands, cast away, unanswered…Until I follow.”
Follow me as “…I pick up a piece of smooth shale, see it skip like the man on the moon, the black and white picture lined with static despite rabbit ears and foil and all of us holding hands, skipping over generations, the gap forgotten, the hippies and Marine brush-cut men and boys, and women in kerchiefs, and me, a tow-headed little girl in thrall to a TV with bad reception , skipping over images like a needle across vinyl...”
Questions, unquestioned discoveries, and answers in parable and rhyme….
This collection records a journey starting with a 1960s retrospective and the first man on the moon, moving to a new millennium welcomed in with a terrorist spin, family crises, and the games we humans play…knowingly or not.
“Questions, floating like whispers, quietly sifted like sands tumbling through my fingers , softly gliding along the lines that define me, the marks that speak my name, then taken by the winds, a million tiny grains called to other places, to other hands, cast away, unanswered…Until I follow.”
Follow me as “…I pick up a piece of smooth shale, see it skip like the man on the moon, the black and white picture lined with static despite rabbit ears and foil and all of us holding hands, skipping over generations, the gap forgotten, the hippies and Marine brush-cut men and boys, and women in kerchiefs, and me, a tow-headed little girl in thrall to a TV with bad reception , skipping over images like a needle across vinyl...”
