rise again
September 5, 2017 § Leave a comment
when the ocean falls
but rises like a bird dives
then rises as a carousel dips
and rises to the falling winds
which rise like a smile turns
and rises like the sun sets
but always, always rises.
reason
September 5, 2017 § 2 Comments
sometimes the wonder
is just all too great to hold
so, I write a poem
spoken word at the uptown arts bar
October 24, 2014 § 2 Comments
they stood beneath the spotlight
underneath the dancing dust
that drifted and fell in lazy patterns
and clung to their lashes like snow, yet they stared ahead
they stood beneath that heavy light
and took hazy swirls of smoke
upon their shoulders, they stood
so serenely
beneath the light that blinded
them from the crowd
they stood and spoke
in an effortless tongue that felt
and fell upon surrounding ears
and I could never see
myself in them. They were another species,
I, just a detached observer
taking in a spectacle,
like animals at the zoo.
they stood beneath the spotlight
that cast so much blinding light
onto every inch of who they were
and they couldn’t hide
behind the rusted microphone stand
and when they spoke
they were anything but caged
they were so
very, very free
facade
July 2, 2014 § 1 Comment
anyone can talk about beautiful things
puffy white clouds and shiny jeweled rings
good hair days and your five year plan
how far you and your dog just ran
but it takes a certain kind of guts
to tell the whole world that your day sucks
what if truth was shared on Instagram
about how you baked those brownies without the Pam
and how you spent your paycheck way too fast
and worry about things that are long past
how you fear you’ll fail when you let others in
how you still regret turning down that boy with the grin
but what if into the wind self-consciousness was tossed
and we all talked freely about fear and loss
what if we shared real moments while forgoing a guise
and looked each other right in the eyes
a world without the pretense and the shiny veneer
would this reality intrude on how life should appear?
or would it provide something else completely freeing,
the beauty of truly connecting with another human being
On the tragedy of words
May 14, 2014 § 1 Comment
The tragedy of words
is simply the many
that remain unsaid
the eras of feeling
and novels of truth
and epics of heroism
caught within
nets of hesitance
they struggle and pry
trying to find
a way to pour out
freed from reluctance
without fear of effect
they wish, but remain
and the tragedy
remains too
Tune
May 14, 2014 § 1 Comment
the same song
every time, a familiar sound
pushing me swiftly through
a tunnel of light on runaway pavement
turning time into traveled miles
and wind, sharp and cold and alive
making hair dance and lifting
hands skyward, that same song
we played that nervous night
in the rain, I always hear it when
I see superheroes and blue dice
and parking lots at night, a road ahead
and stars
catch
May 8, 2014 § Leave a comment
it was never all at once
it was better that way
like the paper plane
you floated toward me
veering east, then west
and eventually landing
in my outstretched hands
Paper
April 22, 2014 § 1 Comment
There’s something magical
about paper, crisp and new
unmarked and full
of possibility
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
The Crane
April 22, 2014 § Leave a comment
Like a wind silently sweeping by
it travels often unseen, rushing past
normalcy, stirring the forest air beneath
its wings, a blur of cobalt, and then nothing
remains, but it is still very clear, an imprint
in my mind, and I often search the skies, hoping
its silvery crescent shape will glide over me
carrying serenity with it, I can remember the words
spoken the last day it was seen
when that majestic bird, looking out of place
where it perched, perfectly centered under an arch
of trees, but among conifers, plain and green,
it’s exotic beak just didn’t belong
we stared and warmed and felt it,
hope floating from a tree branch far above
the present calm settling on our shoulders
as it lifted a leg and turned its head, taking flight
“Cranes are good luck, you know.”
That was all we needed to hear.
rosepoems 