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

Rising Waters

soft rolling waves
brushing the shoreline
come hurling. warmth

that used to make
your blood boil makes you
recoil deeper

from all that you
have felt and long to
feel. digging deep

into the sand
to push it away,
you recoil

into yourself.
this was not part of
the plan; moving

to the city
to be part of the
scene, only to

find you’re constantly
sinking.

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

The Lost Sailor

a stirring voice beckons,
a phantom within a dream.
as i pencil my musings
the voice channels itself
moving deep within me.

laughter quickly vanishes
to reflecting upon the movement of the sea,
to the house
that no longer carries
childhood dreams.

the voice constantly searches vacancies to occupy,
from passing through stations
to platforms holding onto memories.

I attest that this is my screenplay,
but am I the playwright
or cast as the lead
at someone else’s hand?

and the nature of it:
a subtle arrogance,
brilliant confidence
with a touch of sadness
longing for ease.

is my gullible empathy a curse
or is this phantom character
penciled in verse
simply a lost sailor
strolling through life’s corridor?

poem

A Million Images Birthed by A Single Sound

Photo by Lucas Pezeta on Pexels.com

Hypnotizing like a new favorite song
a voice comes across the sound waves in our quiet home.

For hours at a time
we study every word, every tone.

Senses heighten to vibrations spurred
yet not once have eyes met where our minds travel,
not once have hands touched where our souls join.

How does a voice ignite the deepest depths in mere minutes
to anyone who’s listening?

Is it any wonder that we come so close
yet remain so far?

These moments play on repeat
fulfilling an everlasting desired need.

Will we get the chance to speak these words
that dance across the wind?

Will we ever strum the chords
that play to the music of the night?

Will we ever inhale the words breathed between gasps for air
And exhale the sweetest sounds as we lay bare?


Let us dream it isn’t too late,
Or in the dream we shall forever remain.

poem

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

poem

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.

poem

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.

poem

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.