poem

Start with ‘Hello’

the daily pattern,
clicking here and there,
looking for an update,
or something needed to say,
but it’s gone too soon,
like the fading of the day.

there was too much to say,
countless conversations
stuck in my head,
all I’ve needed to say.

talks about the books read,
or music heard,
how the day has been,
and inspiration for the latest writing.

talks about the weather,
upcoming plans,
wanderings under the stars and moon,
or when we first wake
greeting each other with longing hello’s.

so much has been unsaid
between these days
that I’m missing a reason
to say anything at all.

So, I’ll start with “Hello…”
and hope from there the rest flows.

poem

Whisper In My Ear [with audio]

*spoken word*

Your words whisper in my ear.
Your voice does things to me
That haven’t been felt in years.

My heart races
My insides quicken
I want to hear more

I listen when I’m alone
To be safe from disturbance.
I listen while at work
In hopes that no one notices
The reaction your whisper creates.
I listen before I sleep at night;
You’re the last thing I want to hear.

Blow by blow, your words hit deep.
The aching and longing are no strangers to me
But nothing else does it justice,
Not like they deserve.
Nothing can explain
Or perfectly portray
These feelings the same way.


Listen to my poems on SoundCloud
This poem, along with others, can be found in my book:
Coffee Shop Sessions II: Moving Mountains One by One

poem

The Quiet Sunshine

the sun glitters atop a river’s bend
the breeze softly lifts a single leaf,
soaring above the river, between the trees

slowly it goes,
never falling,
never settling

for a moment everything pauses,
animals stop to turn,
stunned by radiance amongst the greenery

a rare moment of silence,
of peace, of joy,
produced at exactly the right time

and I’d like to think
that when others look upon us
with our hearts in tune,
they too will rejoice in the quiet sunshine
of the peace, joy, and love
of how deep it runs,
how wide it flows,
how everything it touches glows

poem

More or Less

a poetic response to A Longing Less Refined by Tom Alexander

You call for less words,
less distraction,
to sink yourself further.
But do you realize
the sensuality of your words
fuels this flame?
How without them
this connection wouldn’t exist?

Cut the words? I say keep them coming,
stack them higher and higher.
Not to the point that a wall divides us,
but a tower that we’ve built together,
one that others stop to gaze upon.

Let’s both receive a piece of the dream:
exhale your epic words over the valley between my thighs,
while fingertips explore, reading every inch like pages of braille;
string kisses around my neck while peppering verses;
tell me the source of your inspiration.

Let’s write the story of our lives;
how every moment we’ve longed to be in this space, mere inches away.
And here we are: tongues dipped in verse and exchanged across a sea of sweat.

poem

Take Two and Call Me In The Morning

original photo credit: Shutterstock

I wake to the sound of him
pinging my phone.
It’s too early for
bright-eyed longing stares
to the love of my life
as my eyes burn from
the phone’s bright light.

With eyes barely opened,
I reach over to tell him
“Good morning, my love.”
He sends his love in return
and I feel his love beating
through my chest from across the pond.

How his smile awakens every
nerve in my body, how it eases
every ache that arises as my body
shifts. If I lie here long enough
to soak in his beaming smile it’ll
surely eradicate the piercing forming
through every extremity.

Tender love is our medicine,
taken in various doses throughout
the day to coast along a high plateau.
And in this moment, our morning routine
of enchanting greetings and air kisses,
it’s exactly what we need.

poem

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.

poem

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.

poem

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.
poem

Train Ride Home

inspired by The Last Night of Your Trip

on the train ride home
your smile flashed between buildings,
lights flickered and i couldn’t tell
if it was the spark in your eye
or the streetlights beaming
onto the dark streets.

i saw your smile and your hand
reaching for mine,
those bedroom eyes
that whispered “bring me
to your hotel.”

we weren’t made for cheap
sex, we were poets
who felt everything down
to our souls.
it wasn’t just one night with another,
it was our lives coming together.

your smile chased me
between the streets.
your breath next to mine
will always be the one thing
that sends me off
to the sweetest dreams.

poem

The Secret Garden

bore from the most arduous labor,
its intoxicating fruit,
its sweet blossoming fragrance,
pulls in the strongest of hearts.
as a vine
snakes its way through the depths
of a luscious secret garden,
distinct impressions
produce
the richest aromas.
even to an untrained eye,
the sweetest honey couldn’t go unnoticed.

Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com

the sweetest honey couldn’t go unnoticed;
even to an untrained eye,
the richest aromas
produce
distinct impressions.
a luscious secret garden
snakes its way through the depths
as a vine
pulls in the strongest of hearts.
its sweet blossoming fragrance,
its intoxicating fruit
bore from the most arduous labor.