Forgotten Opportunities

Now featured in NovaBards Anthology 2021

Throughout my time, it’s been seen
mistakes are easier to see than beauty.
We point out the negative, the faults.

They stick out and prevent us
from seeing the truth of the matter.
I find myself questioning if

it is in our nature or how we’ve been taught
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, 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 you do this to me on purpose,

to show that we are not perfect,
to know that poetry is life and life is not perfect,
and love, our love is not perfect.

We are inevitably flawed and yet I wish it all
to be perfect. I want poetry to be perfect
as it pours directly from our hearts.

Beneath our skin, beneath our shell, our heart
pours out the truest form of emotions
and we strive to reflect our true selves in poetry.

It’s a cyclical battle:
we want to tell our stories,
we want to show who we are,
we want to become something greater
through poetry.

So, when I stop at those forgotten opportunities
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

Cravings

Like a box of chocolates sitting on the kitchen counter, the ones your doctor says to avoid but you bought them anyway because you deserve a chance to indulge in something sweet and it’s your only way of feeling complete after the rest of your life has been torn from you.

You nibble on them every now and then, or carefully slice a half here and there, because all at once is just too much guilt. Those cravings come despite trying so hard to ignore them. Staring you down in your weakness they taunt with, “just a little taste to satisfy your needs.” And that’s all you’ll allow yourself to appease the cravings.

With a hint of pure ecstasy rolling around inside, your heaving breast wishes it could last but knows it’ll end far too soon.

A Dream Landscape

original photo from AdoreMe.com

Dream of love in lace
covering favorite go-to places.

Dreams far from anything you’ve ever recognized,
all desires realized.

Dreams that leave you transformed, molded,
leaving you painted in bold colors.

Dreams of the most flattering shapes
forming a perfect match of colliding lovers in a dream landscape.

A divine love operating with mouths agape.
Sighs, not words, are the only sounds that’ll escape.

The Houses Are Empty and We Cannot Be Saved

photo credit: Timothy Eberly on Unsplash

indulging upon a landscape
you longed to sink yourself into,

eyes scanned every inch where your
fingertips dutifully awaited to graze.

words escaped the space between us
as the air filled with sighs.

“I could write a thousand poems…”
you said as the sun came out from hiding.

and I realized how hollow the room felt
as the sun was the only one providing warmth from its rising.

we could both write a thousand poems
to sway other hearts

and yet we knew we couldn’t be
any more than this.

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.

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.

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.