Poetry (Audio)

Published Poetry

Dandelion Seeds

(featured in Dandelion Symphony, 2020)

Books are strewn from floor to floor,
collected in corners and atop coffee tables
scattered from the shelves and minds
from across the world,
like seeds scattered in the wind.

Light reads blow away—dancing as they go—
to find another home, but the occasional book
that makes one stop, and think,
and breathe in the scent of the earth,
the damp air foretelling rain,
that pages of this life—
these books take root
in the otherwise hardened patio of the mind.


(originally published in Particle Magazine, Autumn 2015, 

University of Nottingham)

Raging. Fear. Gray.
Some call it dreary or drab
despite the grab, the pull of the roots,
but it is your story,
your May Day,
your birth.

Pit-pat. Thrush. Gush.
Youth finds you growing,
stretching your arms and fingertips
to reach a new sidewalk,
a new grass line,
a new curb.

Billow. Wisp. Sigh.
Retreat your Mother Sky,
and hopes rise.
Face reflecting people walk,
buses splash,
canines trot.

Still. Sun. Heat.
Father Time cups your soul
in his hands
You’re shrinking,
he’s drinking.

The sidewalk is dry.

You are but a memory
that reflected
the way we held hands.


Small Talk 

(originally published in Particle Magazine, Spring 2016, 
University of Nottingham)

Nobody wants to bare their heart—a whitewashed wall,
on which hang the faded memories of yesterday and the grand sketches of tomorrow
—not when it shows the dirty fingerprints of children,
the crumbling drywall from the fight, or the blood droplets from last Tuesday.
Even the loved are not safe from the cobwebs of time or the settling of dust on a lonely soul.
Society saunters in, sporting a suit and carrying a pail of touchup paint.
When she asks, “How are you?”, I follow protocol, dipping my brush
in the pail of cheery, yellow lies, dabble it over the latest spot of mold
and smile, saying, “I’m doing well. How are you?”


(originally published on Spillwords)

she’s the reminder that I need fresh air—
kiss of sharp needles, stabbing my feet as
they plunge in this icy green lakeside shore from
liquefied glaciers where old trunks sank and
stick up like a cross-stitch quilt; when you ask
me to listen, rest my head atop your  
chest, please don’t ask me to relax, for still I
feel the avalanche, lifeblood of this sphere with its
veins of ash and fire pulsing to drumbeats
in the deep; she first stole my breath like a
pickpocket, making me double-check my
back. I can’t grasp hold of fear when it is
keeping me alive. this earth is my home—
my heart core in that cavern you call my
chest—I’ll hold my breath, dreading the next earth-
quake, because it’s more than shivers running up
my backside, making my hair stand on end;
it’s a reminder that this, my wild heart,
is only one organ in our world of
orchestras, setting the march with drums now

Most Read Poem of 2021 (May)


brick-red, the russet hue
that clung to calloused hands
and corroded like crumbs,
coated fingers like chalk

brick-yellow, the sunburnt shade
that smelled of asphalt and wind
on a summer’s day—petrol
and the singe of a magnifying glass

brick-gray, the mind’s matter
that can’t quite recall
the thrill of the path i carved
when i scaled these walls

brick-white, the bleached blanket
that coated the face like foundation,
but didn’t quite belong where the dirt
stained its skirts brick-red

My Favorite Poem of 2021 (February)

Do Not Dissect This Poem

if you would, simply set aside the rhyme—
feel the rhythm, this ever-beating pulse.
Close your eyes and imagine the springtime
fresh with morning rain…

Can you hear it?
Listen closely.

the ever-thrumming heart
of a runner as his feet pound this earth,
the ever-expanding-depressing
chest of the bull that croons,
the ever-silent pad
of her toes
on the floor

ba-Dum ba-Dum ba-DUM
Shout! it out
Stomp your rhythm
Clap your song

remember the days you laughed,
the mornings you cried
the places you came from,
look to where you will go and see

hear me ask
Don’t dissect this poem, if you would
simply let it squeal
let it sing
let it be


More 2021 Poetry
Open Water (January)
Snow Day (March)
Blue (April) 
Reading Glasses (October)
Home (December)

More 2020 Poetry
Homesick (January)
Pronunciation (February)
Fog (April)
Sandcastles (June)
Pterolycus (September)
Gold (December)

2019 Poetry

The First Snow (January)
Thoughts of Place (February)
Romantic (March)
Ode to Winter (April)
At My Own Pace (June)
Concrete Forest, Paper Meadows (July)
Fireflies (August)
Origins (September)
At Night (November)
Copper Coated Autumn Leaves (December)

2018 Poetry

Silent Words (January)
Early Spring (April)
Biking to Work (August)
Waking Up (September)
Autumn (October)
Goodbye Again (November)
Pine Trees (December)

2017 Poetry

In Season (February)
Cathedral (June)
Pile of Words (July)
Dandelion Seeds (August)
Magpie (September)
Ether (October)
Lost as a Leaf (November)
Snowfell (December)

2016 Poetry

Flour (January)
Starlight (February)
Riptide (March)
Backspace (April)
Seat D30 (June)
The Muse (August)
Bury Me (October) 
Shadows (November)

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