Posts
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Where my heart lives
My heart lives in a place
in the middle of the beautiful and mysterious woods;
sitting on a rock in front of the sparkling water,
my heart is at peace.
A pond full of life and memories,
the place that I know best. -
Me
I Am
So many things
I am different from others
I care about the things that the others overlook
I am Me
I am watching the birds while you talk to your friends
But when you run down to me they fly away -
Waiting To Be Found
They surrounded me, standing tall, taller than the sky, it seemed, well I, I was -
The Colors of the World
The Colors make up everything we see,
the sky, so blue, the flowers, and the green green grass and trees,
colors are so beautiful,
so why can't we see,
that you, me, all of us,
black, brown, white, are just colors- -
Stand Together
What is the reason?
Why do our loved ones die, die because of all this hate?
We did nothing wrong.
I know the world isn't fair
But people dying because of hate?
That is not being unfair.
It is being wrong. -
A name from the North
A name from the North
from far away
a land of Truth
where the mountains are capped with snow
where my ancestors dwelled in the times before
from the Old Norse Myths,
the viking tales,
meaning fair and strong,
Loves
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Rising
We were rising.
With every thread tied together, by those who wanted to catch hold —
Those with knotted breath and clasped handsWeaving together a dream, cast out into a sea of stars —
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To Be A Poem
If to be a sonnet is to be vain, then to be a sonnet is to be a friend.
If to be a limerick is to be laughed at, then to be a limerick is to be a child.
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When In Bloom
The dogwood blooms later
this year and marks the tardy rebirth
of the earth, our home, beautifying
after a dreadful winter purge. -
Mourning Crow
Crow, past my window,
where do you fly to on this
beautiful morning?
Let us brew some mid-
day coffee and nightly tea.
Bring me to your nest
and hear the early -
Peace
I think peace looks like:
driving on the highway from College Park
listening to “White Ferrari”
by Frank Ocean
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Her Glass Slipper is Her Freedom
Cinderella fit the shoe
perfect-porcelain white-lotus-petal feet
slipping ever so gently into delicate glass slippers
apparently made just for her
by the handsome prince (he has no name)