I don't believe in umbrellas.
With water falling from the sky,
Others shrivel up and hide.
An overcast can ruin their day.
Getting a little wet never bothered me anyway.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 11:07 AM UTC
They were like two satellites,
Orbiting the same heavenly body.
The perpetual rhythm of the universe,
Always moving forward.
Black holes in the back of their minds,
Far off, yet consuming.
Invisible appendages, pulling at the surface.
Dark forces reeling them in,
Gently
Deep craters gouged their exterior.
Ages of abuse yielded hardened hollows.
One more revolution.
How long until the inward force is too much to bear?
A rogue nebula.
An imploded core...
One more revolution.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC
Souls of ink.
Magnificent masterpieces crafted by pen but they're all just ink.
They overlap and create hues so bright or dark it blots out the scene.
She is a brilliant red,
So bright that the outlines fade and all that's left is a feeling of hope and adventure.
She melts the canvas she touches in a captivating way.
If I were white ink I love to be a carnation.
Overlapping gently, making an emotion, a memory where bland scraps once stood.
Constructing romance like flower blossoms.
A chance to show that white ink
Can be beautiful too.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
He was an oak in a vast forest.
A sapling stunted by a storm.
Twisted, but not broken.
He stretched his branches far into the heavens.
Bursts of leaves filling places in the canopy others couldn't.
Reaching for the light.
But there was poison in the groundwater.
His roots withered at the base and it couldn't bear the rest.
He tumbled down to join anew.
The vibrant violets; a gorgeous hue.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
Convoluted thoughts intertwine like cats squabbling in the yard.
My mind is a neighborhood.
Scores of houses and cars, all neatly arranged;
Like packages wrapped under the Christmas tree.
Inside are storms and fires.
Beautiful earthquakes shake them about like a locomotive running laps.
Graffiti on buildings and discarded tires.
A harmonious melody of rain and a whistling teapot.
Bells tolling.
Bikes litter the cul-de-sac.
A basketball rolls into a puddle.
Daisies and peonies sprouting out of little baskets, hanging from kitchen windowsills.
Streetlamps ignite.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
A subtle scent draws you in,
Into a wormhole; a leap through time.
The wholeness of a passed rain on an Autumn day.
Sweet perfume hanging in the air around you and your nose.
Warm feelings flood through every nerve in your hand..
Between the gaps of your fingers and the inside of your palm.
A cool draft across the back of your neck sends goosebumps down your back.
Children chatter and shout as they pass a ball back and forth.
Millions of blades of grass dance from side to side in harmony, to some unsung tune.
The ringing of the telephone at your desk draws you back to reality.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
The weight presses on my eyelids
Urging me to sleep.
Just a few more minutes
I'm almost finished.
The grandfather clock cried out in the hallway.
Just a few more minutes.
I know it's late, but I'd like to finish before I sleep.
The silent sound of snow cumulating on the world outside,
While I diligently work.
I open the curtain.
The sunset rising over my yard blanketed in cold crystals provides an astonishing light
To review my completed project.
It isn't perfect
But I am content.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
A cacophony of bird songs
Shrieking among the firs
Two sparrows roosting on a branch,
Knitted feathers sever and fold
White waters roar through a craggy riverbed,
Alive with the scent of Spring
The hum of hornets emerging from a hollow tree,
A hidden hive
A lonely fawn tramples among the vegetation,
Desperate for a drink
Unopposed, a peculiar person rests upon a severed stump,
Discovering beauty for the first time
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC
I still need to get her a present.
I'll stop at the florist on my way.
I know how much she loves flowers,
Especially on her birthday.
Three different types should suffice.
One daisy, as bright as the sun, for her personality.
One hydrangea, dark blue like the ocean waters, from our seaside cottage where we used to stay.
One rose, dark red like the setting sun, on the evening of our first kiss.
I head up a dirt road and through a field of stones to meet her.
I leave the flowers on her grave, just like I do every year.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 8:41 AM UTC