I'm sure you must be wondering what I mean by the title up there.  That's what I'm trying to figure out.  I'll let you know once I do.  You see, I was beset by ideas for a variety of verse, as if a storm blew in and showered me — instead of droplets, with letters that collected into puddles of words on my mental parchment.  As I sit here drying off, tapping keys to convey and capture the essence of the deluge, I have been attempting to glean some thread of grand design that binds them all together.  A theme of sorts that I could slap up there and

So here I am, having been struck over the head by Inspiration (as well as encouraged by a fellow author and friend named Lynn Tolson), which suddenly compelled me to compile a volume of my verse entitled Poetic Reflections:  Keep The Heart Of A Child.  It's the thirteenth month and I find my brain waxing astutely — well, maybe it's more "ergutely" but I can't seem to find it in the dictionary; not that it's ever stopped me from using a word so all right then, ergutely it is — about everything and nothing, and anything too, but least of all something in

So what is there to be very wary of?  I'll tell you.  Come closer so I can whisper it:  "Everything."  That's right, you heard me.  Everything!  Not that I'm paranoid.  Or maybe I am.  Maybe you should be worried that I am.  And maybe it's contagious!  Maybe the mere suggestion can leap to your brain and burrow into your subconscious where you will be subliminally infected.  Maybe it will spread like germs to every surface, on every breath, until it becomes one big whopping flipped-out pandemic of fear.

There are lighter topics I could choose, yet I find myself able only to speak from the heart.  A heart that beats too loud, too strong, too fast at times.  Or thuds faintly, wounded and gasping.  A heart that is too often betrayed in this world, that bleeds too easily.