Bailey Jones's Journal

  It's been a while since I posted on here and, even then, I was mostly posting drafts of poems, most of which have gone through sever...

Every day the goldfinch squabble around the niger seed in the metal feeder.  Flashes of red and gold tumbling through air;  not so much a ch...

 Twenty-four days to Christmas, twenty until the shortest day.  Time to light an internal flame, prepare for Christmas, burn a blend of oran...

  My parents are tiny now. They have shrivelled and lost their minds; separated for more than half a century and by over two hundred m...