Aug 18

a short poem about the color red.

a poem about the color red.

Red.
It's a color full of energy.
Red are the leaves on a tree in fall, on their last legs before returning to the earth.
Red is the blood that fills our body, making sure we stay alive.
Red is the sky when the sun is dipping below the horizon.
Red is the color of strawberries, their exuberant sheen peppered with little dots of yellow.
Red is the color of Mars, a planet in our solar system and an ancient roman god of war.
Red is the color of foxes, their sly presence bringing a touch of secrecy.
Red is the color of warning, stopping something potentially dangerous from happening.
Red is the color of courage and sacrifice.
Red is the color of life.
Aug 09

Rush

Why do we look back
and not forward?
If life is a train
we're just all waiting to be run down.
standing in the tracks,
raising our arms,
only thinking about where we are positioned.
Time moves much slower
if we are taking it in
and not taking it for granted.
Days fly by,
little shards of regret and anxiety cut our thin, fragile bodies
we are not as strong as we think. 
Being human does not mean we always know the answer.
It means we think we know where to turn,
and if sometimes we run into a dead end
at least we learned something.
If one thing is constant,
it's that we are built to run.
Built to flow rapidly, like the water in a harsh, loud river.
Built to fly, swoop and dive like the great birds of the sky,
Built to always be on the move.
Humanity is a beautiful thing,
not because of the angry, ignorant people that make it up,
Jan 18

7:34 AM

A boy with tattered clothes and a sad expression sits on the broken sidewalk of a narrow street, people scurrying around him with their loud voices and their hurried glances.
A thin, sickly looking girl stares at the horizon with a far off expression, her legs dangling over a rooftop, her peaceful demeanor undisturbed by the massive crowds passing beneath her.
A plainly dressed woman stares out the window of her office, her head resting on the palm of her hand as her eyes rest themselves on the busy street below.
A tired old man looks drowsily down at his feet, his eyes begging for the briefest disturbance as the world passes around him.
Nov 23

Waves

WAVES
So often I think of waves; drifting away, only to be pulled back.
They want to be free.
Behind their beautiful blue complexion is a riptide, a longing, a fear, a doubt.
They become stronger in storms;
they become angry when the sky is black,
And yet they can be gentle under the right circumstances.
They don't know when to hide their strength, and yet they always end up back at the shore.
Nov 07

Poem Insert - Ethereal

So I'm editing/helping with a friend's novel and I wrote a short poem for it
I decided it would be nice to put here

~~~~
ETHEREAL

Something otherworldly, something unknown

Something not tarnished, something called home

Something faraway and something close

Something to be longed for and something morosed

We hold this life in our fragile souls

Always drifting

Yet never to hold

Always warm

Yet always cold.
 
Nov 07

patterns

We, as a planet or a species, love patterns.
When we have the ability to chose between something predictable, and something unpredictable,
We choose what we can predict.
We do this for many reasons, most of which are clear as day.
Look around you.
If something globally monumental happens,
Wouldn't we react strongly?
We'd probably be extremely worried.
We might get on our phones and immediately be sucked into a different world, only to have our worries increase as we read more and more theories and assumptions.
We might never get to the root of the problem and have to live with the knowledge that we were stumped.
We hate being stumped.
Maybe it's just me; but whenever we get forced into a situation we can't worm our way out of, we feel a flaring mix of emotions.
Same as when we get faced with a problem that has the looks of impossible,
Or a crossroads that might affect our future.
Sep 03

Don't you notice the colors

Don't you notice the colors
In every living thing
The vibrant footprint left behind
Like the hue of a flower after the rain
Like the deep azure cloudless sky in summer
Like the soft amber glow of the leaves in autumn
Like the infinitely verdant green of the forest
Like the pallid vanilla-white of a snowflake
So often we're caught up
In a midst of panic and disorientation
Not knowing where to turn right or left
Even when it's directly in front of us?
Do we enjoy the confusion?
Why do we cling on to our thin thread of life,
When we could let it be free?
We seem to have no respect for simplicity,
Always trying to complicate things to a specific standard.
Maybe if we stop,
And just take a moment to appreciate the world around us,
Would we be respected too?
Jun 28

Love

Love is a compliment
Love is a commitment
Love is a gesture of respect in the company of others.

Love is an emotion
Love is a message
Love is a tiny, fragile thing caught in the angry pulsing of a heart

Love is happiness
Love is sadness
Love is a way of saying words unspoken.

So when we pass on
Love is what lets us be remembered.
Jun 24

The never-ending sea

He looks out at the landscape
Rolling by
In waves of green, brown, and blue
He watches in wonder
As the sky and the ground
Move together
Flying past him
Images
In a pattern
Shifting as if alive
The beauty of nature
Who is he?
A young boy?
He is alone.
________________
The twisting landscape
Changes
From tones of gold and green and blue
To tones of gray
What happened?
The trees and valleys and mountains
Give way
To a dying civilization
A city
The air thick with misery
The boy is horrified.
What does he see?
What is this that changed?
Terrified, he runs
Away from the despair
But there's nowhere to go
Forced into a corner
He covers his eyes
Trying not to see
But it covers him
His eyes glaze over
The hopelessness
Taking him over
Apr 27

Untitled poem

Lives pass
Like moments
Fleeting
Here
Then gone
Blown away
By strong winds
Coming from places unseen
Lights
Flickering
Rising up
Falling down
And collecting in drifts
Like ash
From a time forgotten
Eventually becoming part of the wind
Like everything does
Memories
Just a part of yesterday

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