Saturday, February 15, 2014


To my dismay, blogs are often where poetry's long-dead corpse is dissected, spat upon and betrayed by abysmal representations of what was once a genuine art-form. But, eh, mise well post some any way, I've given up bothering with trying to sell it. Hopefully, you find some small enjoyment in it.

"in a midwestern graveyard"

Watching as the rain turns to snow
Fading, grey to black,
As the cold white night falls,
The stone faces stare
At time passing by—

"love in an instant"

There's a time to share, hold and own
The thousand moments you let go—
But it is hard to find the time
In the bustle of our busy lives
And all the moments that go by—
Those are the ones we’d rather try
To own but missing we have to take we can give
And find a second to claim in this only life we get.

"edward and bella"

Into the night we fly
On strong whispering wing
My memory touching yours
But never here—
We are always some other where—
Where they cannot come
We are together, you and I,
In the russet-clad evening sky,
The morning coming but the night still young,
Making music with the moment
You grab and hold it and I struggle not to let go
But I cannot hold on though we fly so high above everything
We fly with thick, heavy, lead-filled wings
Burdened by the brevity of the past and the longevity of the future—
We cannot be together while we are held apart
By the force of ten thousand parting words
So we fall back down to Earth—
Two soaring, yet, Icarian, birds.

"sitting on the shore in a park beneath two hills"

The quiet murmur of the streams
Entwining, rushing by
The flutter of a thousand wings
At once taking the sky
And all the mutters
And whispered words
Cease at once to speak
In the twilight gnawing sleep—

Memories at dawn all the while wait
No hesitation in their slumber
Til you at last awake
And greet you with their cacophony
Of trills and piercing shrieks
Reminders of all the reasons you are in no way unique.


Around me the mirrored world only seems—
My mind escapes the world in dreams
In burning reds and blazing golds
In blooming spring and winter cold—
In a world that never ceases changing
My mind is always rearranging

Falling into a maze amazed by
All the works of hands and days
And all the mistakes that I’ve made
Without ever changing in my ways
Though my dreams swirl all around me—

How might I, so self-contained,
Acknowledge that the summer fades
And the snows fall down across the plains
Of my heartland home?

How do I see myself so clearly
In burning reds and blazing golds
Without ever really seeing
What it means to finally grow old?

My mind besieged, all lost in dreams
A mirror, unreflecting, seems
To be the truth but always lies
And makes the world where I reside
A fanciful kind of suicide.

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