April 24, 2014 § Leave a comment
How do you break one moment into a million pieces,
disturb the unremitting trail of a speeding train,
and knock it forcefully from its track?
How do you break the monotony
that is daybreak and sunset
and cereal for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch?
How can one dive into a deep pool of passion
while sitting at a desk, gazing into the unforgiving eternity
that is an excel spreadsheet?
How do we become a version of ourselves,
the version that plagues us
quite literally yelling out inside our heads
that we must do more?
Perhaps, the answer is simplistic.
An understatement of grand proportions.
Or innocence? Naivety? Litotes?
Or perhaps it is the only answer that exists,
and we simply have yet to uncover
its true depth.
For the answer is to write a poem.
April 22, 2014 § 1 Comment
There’s something magical
about paper, crisp and new
unmarked and full
and there’s nothing
quite so simple but grand
as a brand new pen
with just enough point
with just enough ink
and the artful flick of a wrist
the turn of a finger, a stain emerges
the paper, imperfect, but full
of something personal
full of a meaning
that makes imperfection
into something beautiful
April 17, 2014 § 2 Comments
I opened up the spiral book,
pages filled with words,
etched carefully on paper, purple pen
a fervent scrawl, filled with meaning
from nine years past.
I wrote with conviction
as strong as the coffee that still stains
the pages and spreads ink
and distorts the words penned
from a familiar place that rushed
to fill the pages of a nearby notebook
with notes of beginnings and of ends.
It’s a story I once knew
so well, that now sounds like a fiction
from a distant place,
from another’s hand.
April 16, 2014 § Leave a comment
Silence is a friend
to the harsh and biting,
words that bounce wildly
across wooden rooms
without borders, but an enemy
to the timid, the thoughts,
hidden words trying
to see the light of an open eye
finally taking them in.
March 19, 2014 § Leave a comment
simplicity in air
a stroke of sound
a patient beat
a grateful breath
March 9, 2014 § Leave a comment
I have a story that’s like fire
in my mind. A tale I wove
from thoughts and thread
into a delicate cloth
both beautiful, but imperfect
it smolders still
draped over my eyes
clouding sight but brightening
my way. If only I could peel it back,
throw it above my head
and watch it spin through the air.
Perhaps you could catch a glimpse
of its freedom, and throw your
cloak into the wind, just the same.
Or perhaps you would look above
and simply feel its warmth
fall onto your shoulders.
March 8, 2014 § Leave a comment
A white sea, blank
an open ocean, filled
crisp corners, edges
sharp, surface smooth
yearning to be
filled with color
a canvas of
a single pen
waiting in apprehension
for what it will become
March 1, 2014 § Leave a comment
can it be?
is it so?
was it ever?
how will it?
what was it?
how can i?
who are you?
how are you?
have you been?
when will we?
why are we?
why not me?
February 11, 2014 § 4 Comments
If only I could write poems all day
fill my life with shaping words like clay
I would stare through windows concocting rhyme
If I could only write poems until the end of my time
If only I could paint murals from Finland to Spain
spreading my paintbrush across imperfect terrain
I would cover the ground, the hills, and the sky
If I could only paint murals for the wandering eye
If only I could bask in the sun without end
never shadowed by coolness, nor see darkness ascend
I would swing from the sun beams and swallow the light
If only the world was forever resplendent and bright
If only, if only, the wishers do say
forgetting to love the wondrous day
and if wishes and dreams are within a life’s scope
then cast doubt aside and embrace faithful hope