Pungent Sound Journal of Pulp Poetry
Poetry and Commentary that Smells
A fuzzy pink sweater adorns the cherry tree and all the ladies half my age are smiling at me. Or so it seems - maybe they're just smiling near me. It's hard to see with such watery eyes, as if I'm looking through melting ice. Each spring beckons me out the door, but I'm moving slower than the year before and can't keep up as the ladies walk past. When did these women get so fast? Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
Artists & writers only exist because the world is not perfect.
The scars of my soul bleed through words in the form of poetry.
A Literary Notebook - Since 2007
Imagination, is the art that runs the world, in Reality and Dreams.
Every soul loves soul music
Craig Bingham
Live While You Can
A Portal To Another Green World
GALERIA DE L'AUTOR. Especialitzat en paisatges de Catalunya i Andorra. Retoc d'imatges i creativitat.
Showcasing Our Rich Culture
Wonktastic, wimblistic; wanderings, wonders.
Thoughts on art and language
Chi come la fenice può rinascere?
Poetry for the less discerning.
Ideas, opinion, tips, advice, inspiration, and motivation of daily life.
CGFMEDIA
Photographer in Stockholm, Sweden
Prime my subconscious, one hint at a time
Pungent Sound Journal of Pulp Poetry 
Ladies are like that! 😄beautiful lines
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The times, they are a-changing…😆
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Women were too slow when I valued speed and now are so fast I can hardly catch my breath. Wonderful Spring poem while we wait for Spring!
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Thanks, Geoff.
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I’m generally a fan of fast women.
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You have an unerring deadpan ear. As soon as I read your title a smile got stuck on me. Your rhymes are delicate and delicious except at the end, where they stick the landing perfectly.
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Thanks, JMN. I appreciate your kind words.
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