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11 days February 3, 2017

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Today is the day
I was meant to be born
My mother alone
My father at war

How cruel I was
making my mother wait,
11 days late

Even at my earliest moments
I was hesitant.
Afraid to begin.

How worried she must have been
after four losses
driven to continue, to try
no matter the cost

I was born from determination
from a love so strong
it did not stop

I hope I was worth the wait, Mom.

Mother of Gods January 31, 2017

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Seven climbed the
green foothills
made a camp
and slept so still

Eight there were
when morning came
without a reason,
without a name

Did you give birth?
They asked of her
“I did not wake,
I did not stir.”

Yet there he was
A life brand new
wrapped in cloth
of gold and blue

 

 

 

Note: Sorry it has been awhile. Poetry is something that kind of happens to me, instead of me conjuring it. You know?

Tight-rope March 13, 2014

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Tight-rope walking with a
rope around my waist
hanging onto memories
of times I cannot place
the words are formed upon
the lips my
fingers used to trace
and I know that I will fall
if I keep
moving at this
pace
but if I stop to face the ground
my work will be a waste

Showmanship September 30, 2013

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Everything is dying
piles and piles of
colorful, crunchy corpses
litter the streets
It’s chaos
In the dark, when
dead things are hard
to forget
they are washed away,
pushed aside so that we may get on
with our daily routines
death lingering only in
our peripheral
and easily ignored

But if you ask me,
the pinks and blues
to come
are nothing compared
to a last minute attempt
at showmanship

Linger June 7, 2013

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The bass is in my chest
and it makes me feel hollow
Recent events, whatever they mean,
make a hard pill to swallow and
There’s no time to feed
the self loathing that’s roaming
in my head and my heart
or blame the rules of the game
So I shrug off the shame
lying bare on my shoulders
and move forward
But the road has grown longer
and meaner, and I don’t
want to linger here in this
faux purgatory more than I have to,
more than I need to
“I’ll pull through, in the end,”
I tell myself, like I’d
tell a friend.
For now I’m a ghost
making the most of
the time that I’m given
to prove I am driven
enough.

Core April 1, 2013

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It goes beyond
the foundational crust
It’s biological, it’s
part of us
It’s the chemistry of
carefully mixed parts
and checking your
math. Twice.

It is shaped by us
and, in turn, shapes us
the world moves to
many rhythms,
tripled and mixed,
but all in sync
and writing the
history books

Saying more than
poetry or painting
evoking lost emotions
and guiding the heart
to new ones
Music is my center,
my core, my purpose

Find your center
You may have to dig,
your knees planted on
the earth, your hands
covered in dirt,
and sweat on your brow
Find your center
but don’t claim to know mine

No one can
take that away
from me
And I won’t
let them take it
from you

St. James Infirmary February 21, 2013

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Blue skies, blue eyes
a sad, sad story
it’s a simple progression
to make misery
a wailing song
been too damn long
since blue’s been
a good color

Any color would be
a welcome sight
to these weary eyes
a yellow bright
or a red like wine
would be more than fine
but everything’s gone grey

It’s just as well
I didn’t appreciate it
anyway

Apple Tree January 24, 2013

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On my best days
I still think about it
that place that exists only in my mind,
as far as I know.
I close my eyes and
I can feel the gentle breeze
and the grass tickle my ankles
There we have a house,
small but more than enough
Weโ€™re rarely inside anyways

We have a bed
and a tea kettle
and one apple tree that
sits outside our window
and taps the glass on stormy nights

We often look toward the horizon
where grass meets sky
and feel nothing but peace

The only reminder of the
world beyond our little house
is the occasional piece of mail
that finds its way to our mailbox
shaped like a bird house

I feel your hand reach for mine
and I smile because
nothing could make this any better

When I open my eyes
real life is blinding and out of focus
but if I squint just right
I can see our one
apple tree

 

 

Tears Grow Nothing March 21, 2012

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Don’t let me define you.
I am not a mirror
and even those are flawed.

Let me start over.

I am a gesture.
At best, a natural occurrence.
A pretty face and nothing more.

Don’t let me decide for you.
That’s not fair
I am not equipped for that
And you deserve better

At the end of the day,
no matter how many petals you pull,
he’s never coming back
And I’m only a flower.

Until the End August 26, 2011

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Nothing makes sense until the end.

What may have seemed beautiful in
front of your eyes was
mere disguise to hide all
the lies that you won’t
see in time.

He sang of your beauty
so often it led you
to believe that the dread
in your stomach was all in your
head, but it had been months
since he meant the sweet words
that he lovingly said

A joke hypothetical would
some day be literal
but how could you know?
Your heart was collateral
but a temporary loss
for all you would gain
from walking down roads
hollow and cold and somehow it
ends in a light that is bold
and warm on your skin
the Yang to your Yin,
if I may

and not til this day
did things start to click
into place where you are
as if written with stars on a map of the sky
drawn before time
so keep mind over matter
but keep this in mind
it all won’t make sense
until you put it in line