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 
Probably they’re just smiling near you!!!!
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Yeah, that seems to be the consensus.
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This is lovely!
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Thanks very much, JMN.
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Whimsy and playfulness, we’ll take what smiles flutter-by!
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That works for me.
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