Each of these lines appeared in a poem of mine.

 Feminism preceded the human race in the form of wildflowers.


 The page was starving white.


 Do flowers know when they are dying? 


 Dawn may be a few generations away. 


 Beauty is the electrical field that gives poetry its magnetic force.


 I think of a poem as an exhibitionist muse flashing her ankle.


 Decisive like a daybreak, sober like a Monday.


 An eagle can only see forward. 



              © 2025 Mohamed Chaouchi. All rights reserved.