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 2020

Passing Shadows

Our days are but a passing shadow,
and yet I find myself
living this moment like never before—
I like to taste each sunrise
as though I’d never seen light,
I climb this new path
as though my heart has never pounded
to the rhythm of my footsteps.

When my shadow shrinks,
and I come to alight on a bunk
like a bird in its nest,
stretching my legs,
ready to hunt down my next meal,
as though I’ve never tasted
the savory drops of soup before—
and maybe I haven’t
had this variety, but I’d like it again.

The final hours stretch out
the darkness yet again,
the light I stopped from reaching
the ground
simply by standing here
amid the humid air,
chasing butterflies with my camera
as though I’ll never see one again,
listening as the stars come out one by one
as though they all still shine.


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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