Posts
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Through Glances at the Sun
Poetry has a silent power
In the way that poets
don’t need words to communicate
With one another;
We simply see a wildflower
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A Palmful of Metaphors
I’d like a palmful of metaphors,
Ones to use every time
I put a pen to a page,
To plant in my heart
And become submerged in my hope,
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The Beating Heart of the Universe
I would like to hope
That before there was a sky
Bleeding stars,
Before there were planets
Polluted with creation,
That there was still the beating heart
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Droplets Forever Alive
I’d like to garden
My own heart,
To pull the weeds of sadness
And hate
From the foundation
I sprout from,
To plant seeds of hope
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The Halo of Beginnings
I remember sitting
In my mom’s lap,
Her arms curled around me,
The rocking chair creaking slightly
In the breeze of her love,
Swayed and lulled by a sea
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The Song-Stoked Fire
Smoke curls into the air,
Twirling,
One thread dipping another,
A slow waltz
With some quick steps to spark
The band,
A careful orchestra
Loves
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prescription (go sailing)
sometimes i think just one sunny day would cure me of everything.
other days i think pills and tonics and treatments are lies that i continue to swallow.
most days i just daydream about last summer when our tiny sunfish
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somewhere in new zealand with a bowl of pasta
for a friend
i picture you some days – a utensil in one hand and your cheek
in the other, gazing somewhere in the distance as your
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