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

I was meant to love you

I remember you in the morning,

the way the light hit your eyes,

the way your smile matched mine,

the way your fingers grazed over my peaks and valleys,

the way you wandered over my warm skin, inhaling its intoxicating scent.

And I remember the feeling that it was a perfect dream,

one that we never wanted to end

but it slipped away too soon.

And now every time I start to rise in excitement

I anticipate the impending heartache that follows.

Do I dare to fall, do I dare to rise, do I …

I do, and so we continue, for the rest of our lives.

the other morning

Lying in bed after a night’s sleep, I peek

at the clock to confirm the hour before

the sun comes up. It’s too early to stir

the house awake, too early to reach for the phone,

for those good morning kisses. It’s

the only thing I want to wake up to, seeing you

across from me, telling me you love me.

Forcing myself back to sleep, I float in and out

of a dream, too eager to get too deep.

It’s one of those days, like every other one,

where you are so far away and I need your face

in front of me. I need your kisses all over me.

I need your smile, your body wrapped around me.

Yet, here we are,

with one more night ending,

to one more morning

in another light.

Untying the Knot

She gathered
tulle and ribbons
to create
the most perfect gift,
where the two of them would unite
to protect the insides,
to hide from others
the chance of disappointment.

The more she gathered,
the more she prepared,
the more she fought to avoid
things that were destined to happen,
the more they came.

Pulling back the ribbon
on her handcrafted gift,
she now sees
how empty it is inside.

listen to her

inside of you,

that constant voice

knows you better

than anyone else.

she’s been there

when no one else was.

she knows she’ll never

steer you wrong.

she’ll direct you forward,

& retract you

from uncomfortable situations.

no matter if they say otherwise,

listen to her.

friends know a side of you,

your lover knows another,

but she knows all of you;

all of your inner workings

shaping your heart

and points of view,

listen to her.

when the night is still,

when you’re in the midst

of looking across the room

but you’re 3,000 miles away,

listen to her.

she’s there to keep you

grounded yet dreaming,

enjoying yet wishing

that soon all will be right.