Apr 08


Into deepest black
Endless stillness
Endless calm
Oh, to float in the middle of a forgotten ocean
Into treacherous waves
Endless time
Endless peace
Weighted and heavy
Oh, to sink into a deep dark sea
I welcome you
My endless ocean.
Mar 25

Save The Trees

Save The Trees

We have to save the trees, for the trees are our protectors.
These men and their machines who are the designated collectors,
Of Sequoia, and Sycamore, of Beech, and Blue Spruce,
Of Basswood, and Aspen, what will we deduce?
When these men take their chainsaws and leave us to discover,
What we will need from the trees to recover.
If we do not stop to give thanks to the trees,
What will prevent trees from stopping the breeze?
We need our forests because of what they provide,
Stable soil, carbon storage, and shelter humans with pride.
Forests are taken for buildings and stoves,
And leave valleys, and fields full of stumps in droves.
“Go away!” say the trees, “and leave us alone,
We don't deserve this, we want to be grown.”
“We trees want to live, to be planted, and sewn.”
But the men and their chainsaws continued to chop,
Apr 08

Woodland Sprite

The small earthy creature unfurls from its curved in body, smudged with dirt from a winter's sleep.
It blinks its large spring green eyes, blinded by the ever-shining sun.
The creature is a wood sprite. Her name is Petra.
She is thankful for the warmth that seeps through her raw, frosted skin, alighting in her soul and a long slumbering joy opens a single eye in response, deep in her soul.

She is ready for the Spring.                                         
Apr 08

we are the night

Cut me, bruise me, tear me from my skin.
you will never break me.
yell and scream and curse and hit me.
you will never win.
because i am the dark, the soul-bonded sorrow.
long forgotten tears stain my cheeks.
i am the blood and sweat of the children.
the children born of moonshine.
you cannot defy us.
and if you do, hell, even if you dare to try.

we are the night.
and we will not be forgotten.
Apr 07


Apr 07



It eats you up from the inside out, knowing nothing else but the ensuing panic of spilled emotion like red silk pouring over sun kissed cheeks shimmering with tears. Anxiety, when your stomach starts to roll like thunder clouds over misted moonlit trees. Anxiety, the pounding of your strangled beating heart, like drums beating out a rhythm while the sky begins to cry. Maybe someday it will be gone. Maybe its a good thing that its here. But for now we who suffer must dilute our minds with medication, hoping for a cure that might not exist.
Dec 22
poem 8 comments challenge: Vanilla


Vanilla, that’s what you smell like.
Maybe not anymore, but back when I knew you ...
you smelled of vanilla, of singing in the rain,
of running through a forest, and laughing through the pain,
of singing in the morning, and early evening tea,
of seashells on the shoreline, and seagulls soaring free.
So to me you smell of vanilla, of voices heard at dusk,
your eyes the blue of morning, your skin like an ivory tusk.
But maybe it’s just me, remembering the days,
old memories of you and me, fading through the haze.
Maybe you forgot me, but maybe you remember
our fleeting, happy friendship, that ended last