Published Poetry
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.
Puddle
(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.
Once.
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?”
Heartbeat
(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)
Seeking the Song of Time (March)
Fog (April)
Sandcastles (June)
Writing a Poem (July)
[Like fireflies in the night] (August)
Pterolycus (September)
Cathedral Caverns (October)
The Smell of Earth (November)
Gold (December)
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)
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)
Still Life in Spring (May)
The To-Be-Read List (July)
Biking to Work (August)
Waking Up (September)
Autumn (October)
2017 Poetry
Weird Winter Weather (January)
In Season (February)
The Crow and the Heron (March)
Magpie (September)
Snowfell (December)
2016 Poetry
Flour (January)
Starlight (February)
The Muse (August)
The Christmas Market (December)
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