Mar 30


How many half-finished pieces
I've written.
My pencil slipping across the paper,
my fingers staining the blue lines.
Words echoing into oblivion,
thoughts tumbling away.

How many half-finished pieces
I've written.
Forgetting what I've said,
remembering what I was trying to say.
Looking at other's bits and trying to see
where their's line up with mine--even a little.

How many half-finished pieces
I've written.
Later awake than I should be,
rubbing at my eyes, blinking away the light.
Watching a cursor move as squiggles
take shape.

How many half-finished pieces
I've written.
Enough to fill another
with maybe an ounce of meaning.
Mar 30

I Don't Want To Be Scared Anymore

I don't want to be scared anymore.
Is that too much to ask for,
in the land of possibility?

I don't want to be scared
of the drills in our school,
where the lights go off,
and the door is locked.
Where we cower in a corner,
and I'm pretty sure that this is just a drill,
because my school is safe.
In a small rural Vermont town,
that's what I think.
a gun threat was made
close enough to home to have me worried.
A threat,
at a school,
where close friends of mine
were supposed to go not even a week later.
So how can I believe that my school safe after that?
I can't.
Last year it was 15,000 people.
How many will it be this year?
And as I sit hiding in a corner, in the dark,
while people whisper when the teacher isn't looking,
I take a deep breath.
I try to remember
if I said hi to my friends in the halls...
Mar 28

I Know People

I know people
who can speak words
so powerful,
that they cascade against
and shatter the glass
walls that cage them in.
There words so full of truth,
they're overflowing.
It's their nature to be heard
because no one can silence their

I know people
who are blind to their beauty,
both inside and out.
And the uniqueness they think is
They stare at their imperfections
and cry their silent tears,
though everyone else sees what's really there.

I know people
who waste the life they are given.
They complain about homework
and school.
And the stuff they would be
wishing for if they were without it.
The privilege they have,
to attend the school they wished so much
to be out of.

I know people
who smile like a viper.
Their eyes do not crinkle
or light up,
but they pretend.
Mar 09


Be brave.
She whispers in my ear,
late at night,
in the dimmed light of my room.

Be brave.
He says before I line
up to race,
for what could be the last of the season.

Be brave.
They shout up
to me, when I can't
go any further.

But what if I can't be brave?
What then?

Be brave.
I say to myself.

Be brave.
Mar 08

What To Say When You Don't Know How

"Keep the ones that heard you when you never said a word."

To have found you,
in the off chance,
Life is luck is chance.
And that's what it was that I met you.

You are my other halves,
my stars, and my sun
(I'll be the moon),
my trails on the mountains -
for those times I get lost,
or my life vest
for when I'm drowning
though you would think it unheard
of if I were drowning.

You know me - 
but you get me.

You share my passions,
you understand my hardships.
You are there for the times I need you,
there for the times I don't,
and all the times in between.

You are there for the lunches
where we discuss politics, injustice - and justice,
the days where you organize school walkouts,
and for the days where we discuss...lesser topics.


It's dark.
Not dark, devoid of light.
The lightless dark invades my eyes
willing me to make sense of the world
I'm in.
But, there is
Nothing to see.

It’s heavy.
Not heavy, stifling.
It squeezes, it pulses, it pushes, it pulls.
It snags in my fingers,
and weaves its way between my toes.
I reach out to grab it.
But there is nothing.
Nothing to feel.

It's quiet.
Not quiet, soundless.
I turn slowly, my feet making no sound.
Not a stomp. Not a pop. Not a tap.
Not a whisper.
For there is
Nothing to hear.

I am alone
in this world of
suffocating dark

I call out.
But I cannot speak.
I run forward.
But I go nowhere.
I am pointless,
No one.

It is still dark.
It is still silent.
It is still smothering.
It is everything and nothing.
Mar 07

Grains of Sand

An hourglass
Lazy blazing afternoon light
catches the glass angles and
glints off
reflecting the stars.

Somewhere a single bird calls,
a river trickles,
and children laugh in a field.

A grain of sand slides slowly,
drops pitifully small,
and sits at the bottom.

Somewhere a small,
brightly colored, waxy,
candle is blown out,
marking one more year.

Another falls. Two.
Now they are together
down there on the bottom. They are lonely,
but at least they are not alone.
Feb 09
poem 2 comments challenge: Nothing


Did you know that the
sun and the moon will never meet?
Did you know that the stars can
only see at night?
Did you know that
trees greet the earth
but rocks grudgingly surrender?

The sun peeks over the mountains
just as the moon goes
home for the day.
The stars are quiet during the day
but open their bright questioning
eyes when they will be seen.
Trees stand talls,
and the rocks are jealous.

And did you know that the ocean
will never truly reach the sand?
And have you ever wondered why
the wind blows?
And why the fire leaps about
as if wishing to play,
but is too fast
for you to ever be friends?

The ocean keeps running
and breaking
and turning 
and circling around.
And the wind wishes to sing
but never learned how so it cries
and wails instead.
And the fire
will try to smile
Feb 08

I Went To The Mountain

I went to the mountain
because it was calling me.
It thrust its voice out into
the air and said,
"Come see the world.
Feel the dirt between your toes.
Smell the river.
Hear the trees speak."

I went to the mountain
because it broke the clouds.
Damp air pulls at your hair
and the wind lazily floats around you,
until it screams.

I went to the mountain
because it seemed older than time.
Long ago--you can see it--
it was sharp
and jagged
and terrifying.
Now it's quiet. Steady.
As relentless as the rain.

I went to the mountain
to cleanse myself in the dirt
and the mud.
The rain and the snow.
The sun and the sweat.
To go back to the
proximity of our origins.

I went to the mountain 
to take a break from the world.
It is pure there.
No hate.
No judgment.
Just the steady, ragged,
Feb 06
poem 0 comments challenge: Haiku


he talks so much talk
and he walks even more walk
but it can't be real...

clapping, more standing,
written prompts. (for those who
don't agree with him)

hurting so many for
his whimsical fancies...
"for what?" I told you.

so much "gain" for so
little gained. it was just dumb.
they still did it... why?

did you know what would
happen when you put him in
the office? did you?

did you know enough
about him to realize
that it would end like