cold gray rainy day
watching winter’s last leaves fall
from my cozy bed
poems
Ecos
leaves — lovers
of the gentle breeze
trees — brothers
of roots that weave
soil — giver
of life through earth
sun — mother
of golden light’s birth
Strive & struggle
I am a poet, — though
I’ve yet to write a poem —
when my soul blossoms
and my mind goes free
when I finally let go of
the suffocating shroud
o’er the wildness of me
my beauty will spill out
the ink will overflow and
finally I’ll be able to see
through a sapphire lens
into the heart of infinity
I know I am a poet —
someday — I will be
but the earth hasn’t yet
shattered inside me
I have still only yet got
the seeds of the words
within me; I am learning
and yearning and earning
and living my way toward
being born into harvest
There’s a meteor shower
inside my brain —
stars shooting down
every bright idea
words burning out
before inking the page —
broken-hearted dementia
sleepless engulfing fog —
search and rescue crews
report every line gone
Reeling
fifty hit me
a ton of bricks
insult to injury
for some body
still on the floor
under the anvil
of forty-nine
Movie review
good luck to you, leo grande
emma thompson — you
are my new hero
Inescapable
Nothing begins, and nothing ends,
That is not paid with moan;
For we are born in others’ pain,
And perish in our own.
—Francis Thompson, from “Daisy,” 1892–1894
Sticks & stones
Empty-nesting is exponentially more painful
when all you’ve ever had is eggs, no chicks —
and now, even the eggs are gone.
Winsome, losesome
Love isn’t just blind
but also stupid —
lobotomy by arrow
bullseye, Dr Cupid!
2024
I know a guy.
Angry. Festering
in disappointment
of the world
and of himself.
A little depressed.
Sick of doing
the same. freaking.
thing. every day.
Wondering where
his lost youth went.
Hungering to replace
the comfort and
all the good things
in his life that
have gone away.
But resolutely
continuing on
doing his duty.
Living with the pain.
Loving while he can.
Taking any little
laugh he can find.
Then doing it all
over again. Perhaps
you know him too.
Perhaps we all do
— inside.
Ember
days in winter
fall so short —
as the sun sets
loneliness rises
no Physics
dancing under midnight stars
on damp grass in the dark —
a good friend by my side
youth’s music in our ears
wildcats watching hereaway
in the cool fall desert night —
zero credit hours for school
but dozens of them for life
Stellar
Winter’s cold-black celestial canvas showcases
the twinkling anatomy of Orion and his skymates…
Shadows long after light is gone
end of life decisions
seep grieving guilt
into every crack
of broken hearts—
life is the always
ultimate sacredness
and to play god
feels sacrilegious—
even the right decision
reverberates as wrong