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
Loves
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bumblebee
// bumblebee//honeybee//honey//sweet as nectar//you are beautiful//in every way//
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a letter from ninestars to my friends
I come here to
express myself
semi-anonymously,
but freely
and happily.
My laptop is
bombarded with
tabs, one of which
is YWP.
Always.
I may not
write a poem
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Glass Houses
Throwing stones in glass houses
Makes cracks that can be removed
Taken down and restored
But that does not mean there was no damage to begin with.
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Droplets of letters of justice
You matter.
Not in a pastel poster sort of way. Not in a science teacher’s dad-joke shirt sort of way.
In a rain drop sort of way.
The rain drops don’t need to be thereNot all of them
For it to be raining.
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glass hearts
it's dark.
you wouldn’t know that if you looked at me,
of course
you wouldn’t even know i’m there
transparent, lucid,
