Jun 21

Lake Champlain at Sunset

The egg yolk of a sun had already dripped away

City lights peppered the peninsula, breaking up the hard outline where land meets air

The lake was a placid raspberry colored mirror of the rainbow sunset, fringed by indigo night

Fish disrupted the watery glass-like surface, creating small ripples

As the colorful horizon melted into the vast depths of sky, a large ghost-like moon rose

The lake now shimmered with a new pale light.
Jan 21


The sun was a halo of light in the south sky.

Smoke stained snowbanks lined the grey road.

Electric colors of traffic lights blazed apart from the monotone world.

The waters of the lake were cold and stony, edges frayed by the wind.

Cubic shapes of buildings shaded the city, red bricks drained of their cheery jublilance.

White snowflakes drifted down adding to the piles of slush along grey street.
Jan 21

Hanging from the Telephone Wire

I wonder how old those shoes are, hanging on the telephone wire.

Their laces baked and hardened by the sun, I wonder when their time there will be done.

Tied and thrown up high by bullies who wanted them to fly.

If your shoes are taken by that pack, you're never getting those back.

I wonder when the laces will break, it's unknown how long that will take.

How old are they?
Dec 08

Clear Sky Night

It's rare to have clear skys in winter; white sheets of cloud blanket the sky almost every day.
At night, the atmosphere looks like those in stop-motion Christmas specials.
The moonlight dances over the snow making a silk painting, but cameras seem to ignore the moonlight's presence and the images appear to be taken through a dark woolen blanket.
When fog rolls around the moon, every dormant tree appears gnarly and disfigured, outlined in the hazy light.
At dawn, the snow reflects a pale violet light, a pleasant sight for a kid standing at their bus stop, blowing out frosty breaths of air, waiting for the bus to appear.
Nov 24

October 28

Aug 17

The Tomato Hornworm

Fat and plump from tomato leaves.

Inching across on tiny sticky legs.

Stuffing its ungainly body.

Stripping stems bare.

Leaving only shreds.

It dared to show its face.

It was frighteningly ugly.

Not even birds would peck it.

The worm was gargantuan.

Flailing its jaws.

Rearing its horn menacingly.

A not-so-miniature monster.

Sentenced to banishment.

For slicing tomato stems

Enlarging its pudgy temples.
Jul 01

A stormy night

The humid air dragged in my throat as I scribbled on a notepad, not wanting to forget.

Heat lightning danced in thundering radiance along ridges of shadow.

A bloodened moon rises as a dead husk of bone instead of a bright pool of energy.

Fireflies charge their bioluminescent light in the sprinkle of rain, mirroring the sky.

The fan droned in the window, hardly sharing the cold blowing air with any of the house inhabitants.

As I write this true poem without my second pair of eyes, I can barely see the flashes in the warm ink of night.
Apr 16

Light in the Darkness

Apr 16

Spring Comes Through

Jan 19

Chicken Feed

Dear Gracie,
I remember when
I threw chicken feed
You ate every beakful
Out of my hand
I picked you up
I felt your silky feathers
They were brown with white spots
You had a white head like a bald eagle
I named you Gracie
After myself
Back when you were a chick
I could tell you apart from the others

You were always afraid of me
Even though I loved you and fed you
I also fed the creatures of the woods
But not with feed
But not with intention

One night
I dreamed of you
I saved you from a horrible storm
While my brother plucked feathers
From one of your siblings

I was aware but unaware
I had future vision
My dream was a metaphor
It was right in a backwards and twisted way

Because you didn't come back
I still searched
I still found,
I found you
I buried you under an apple tree
I picked dandelions