Navigating the Breakers

A sting reaches our eyes as we collect
salt and mist from the unchartered sea
knowing where we’ve been,
knowing where it will lead.

Glimpses of our future
pepper through the days of our past
on that boat sailing against the breeze,
wondering which of our days will last.

Mirroring smiles reflect
how we take on the world:
you take the wheel
while I navigate the sails furled.

Wherever the wheel guides us
on this grand adventure,
with our hands holding each other tight
we’re bound on this journey together.

Falling Blossoms


My arms embrace the challenge
to serve as your refuge
through seasons, storms, the sweltering sun,
and gusts of wind.

As those days near their end
and the air turns cold,
my emerald tones slowly convert to amber and crimson
before they too surrender to the elements.

Imminent days lie ahead
where life will be renewed,
but until then the sweet scent of flowering blossoms
from our days together continues.

Walking The Corridors of My Mind

thoughts drift wondering
about those who have
walked the corridors
of my mind,
over the years
and through the doors
in and out of sight.

I see their faces,
hear their voices,
as they’ve entered dreams
and I wonder,
where have they gone?
what are they doing now?
do they wonder the same?

do they see the same blue
skies above?
do they feel the same aches
of aging?
do they have needs
to hear the music
but they’re
unfulfilled and left
wondering?

are they out there,
are they wondering the same
for me?

Disconnected

Particles of despair spin midair.
They soon become swallowed and part of me
before there’s a chance of being wiped away.

I try and I try and only return to asking:

How is this pain necessary?
Is not struggling even an option?
Is my negative perspective the only guideline I carry?

The nature of it does not resemble the ideal.
When it starts to feel like
we’re falling off track from living the dream,

there’s a knock on the door. We shake off the covers
to awaken where unicorns fly above rainbows
and oh, how we wonder with befuddlement,

‘how did we get here?’

Dare To Defy

shapes and shadows
strike awe and wonder

lines connect
pulling images together

signifying tenderness
you’ve longed to hold

her reflection resembles
the moon smiling back

she pulls you,
her rising tides keep you

intrigued
when she starts to recede

you continue,
there’s no other way

there’s no other choice,
hold on tight while she gently sways

The Immemorial Breeze

After Robbie Krieger

A rhythm begins within, grows its pace
steadying adjacent to my lungs
gently caressing and heightening in time.

As I reach for an opened door
among this unsteady foundation,
I become one with an ultimate fascination.

A gentle breeze sways its way
lifting me across the fields.

Absorbed with awe
above each tempestuous treetop
and with each breath, the view assures that we are blessed.

These movements of air,
raw and real,
reminds me how I’ve longed to feel.

This source of peace,
begging for stillness,
levels our lost lives.

Restoring my spirit home,
I grant myself the space to breathe.

The ceaseless rhythm stroking my chest
stirs within me, and is bound to last eternally.

Summer Love Swept Away

Photo by Hernan Pauccara on Pexels.com

I spotted you amongst the masses there
with only a moment to choose, I feared
this was headed nowhere.

Giving you a raised eye
I slipped you a napkin with my number,
figured this was a love you couldn’t deny.

We filled our summer days gone by
with dragonfly dreams. Our love
left like beach vacationers and passersby.

Heading back to where they’ve come
but deep in the night, they’ll remember
what those summer loves have done.

In this jaded seaside town
after the blazing sun has gone down
nothing remains but tumultuous sea sounds.

Like a discarded napkin
left by a shattered dish,
this love was swept away with the rubbish.

Let the Music Play

we were an unsinkable ship,
built to sustain any injury
thrown our way, or so we said.

cast into the dark,
yet illuminated with infinite possibilities.

suddenly slipping through our fingers
the bitter cold quickly rushed in,
and the music played on.

while the chaos surrounded us
and the children were tucked safely in their bed,
the music played on.

while prayers were whispered,
and crowds huddled around,
the music played on.

while the water was rising,
we clasped our hands together for the last time,
and the music played on.

while last kisses were shared
and arms embraced wiping away tears,
the music played on.

while eyes sought the humanity
and love within each other’s eyes,
the music played on.

while indecisions and indifference captured us to a halt,
the music played on.

it was the only thing that could caress us
as we fell further into the deep, dark cold waters.

and the music played on
for each and every one of them

until they could hear it no more.

Walk With Me


She wants to be who she is.
She wants to feel loved for who she is,
And who she wants to become.
She doesn’t want to feel guilty to feel needed.
She wants to feel beautiful.
She wants to feel strong.
She wants to feel like she belongs.

But if belonging means to solely coexist,
To feel like another piece of the scenery,
Then she doesn’t want to be anywhere remotely near it.

She wants to have romantic love.
A wish on her last days should not be to feel more loved,
But rather to have more days to spend with the one she loves.

Talk to me like I am the reason you breathe.
Talk to me like I am why you rise in the morning.
Talk to me like I am the last thing you want to see before you sleep.
Tell me I’m your everything.

And then show me, prove to me, that there’s no doubt in the world otherwise.
Tell me, because a woman needs to know.
And tell me authentically.
Don’t pour sugar over a salty wound thinking it will heal, only time and tenderness will do.

Forgotten Opportunities

Throughout my time, I often point out the mistakes in writing, rather than absorb the beauty. It’s so easy to point out the negative, what they did wrong than what they worked so hard on and did right. I’ve been wired like this for a long time. They stick out so easily and prevent me from moving on to the beauty of the piece. Often I find myself questioning if it is in our nature or how we’ve been taught as a society to pick apart every detail and focus on what could have been better? 

Recently I found you, you misspelled tag on a poem. And you too, you forgotten period at the end of a line. I found you too, you misspelled word in a poem about the sun shining down upon you. I see you all, and I think you do this to me on purpose, to know that we are not perfect, to know that poetry is life and life is not perfect, and love, love is not perfect either. 

We are inevitably flawed and yet I wish it all to be perfect, and I want poetry to be perfect because it pours directly from our hearts and our hearts pour out the truest emotions in our poetry. Shouldn’t we strive to reflect our truest form in poetry? 

It’s a battle of cyclical proportions:
we are who we are and we show it through poetry,
we strive to become someone or something and we show that through poetry,
and we see what has been and we tell our stories through poetry.

So now when I stop at those forgotten opportunities of improvement I say, “I see you. I get you. I am you, too.” for we have all been that forgotten detail in someone’s story.

Thank you for reading