To wilting dandelions,
I ask the same old question every time,
*"Tell me, when I grow old,
will my decayed hands work or shake too much?"*
I hope I can climb trees,
and watch my scratched guitar weave through the pines:
High in the canopy,
gazing through branches at the one I love.
We play blue melodies
and feel blessed by the sun.
Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 10:08 PM UTC
Winter: when the Northern Hemisphere has bowed down to the sun,
when frostbite grips the most ardent heart until it loves no one,
when the fluttering pulse of the earth relies on life support,
when the wind casts an anemic cold through icy window panes,
just wait until that fateful night when city lights fade away,
until back doors slam with thrill as the sun melts into the trees,
until footsteps crunch through snow- but are then stopped dead in their tracks,
then upturned eyes reflect the flickering dark, and hands are warmed with love.
/ winter becomes bearable/ frostbite loses its grip for a while
To my dear astronomer, please know,
that although I may never see you again,
our lives are but a clear night in winter:
and you are a sky full of stars.
To my dear astronomer, please know,
that although I may never see you again,
our lives might always be steeped in bitter coldness,
but you are a clear sky full of stars.
May 21, 2020
May 21, 2020 at 1:53 PM UTC
Like the way a sunbeam skips across a flitting fish's scales,
a browning maple leaf slips into the gutter during a storm.
The way butter yields and melts onto freshly warmed toast,
a pencil fights for movement as a sleepy hand drifts off.
The way greasy wrappers fall from an overflowing trashcan,
a cat's eyes blink slowly to tell you they love you.
The way a foot slams the gas to pass a changing yellow light,
a lost shoe clings to the sidewalk, waiting for its partner.
It is fleeting, immaterial, the way death shows itself to you-
skipping, slipping, melting, fighting, falling, blinking, slamming, clinging-
Oh! how it hurts so dearly to find
that every ounce of living
hints to your little life dying/ snuffing out.
Feb 26, 2020
Feb 26, 2020 at 12:20 PM UTC
As the moon rises above skyscrapers, an ecosystem is revealed. Aluminum candy wrappers shine under streetlights against the gritty black tarmac. Flying in a majestic arc, the pigeon swoops to a nearby trash can and feeds on greasy fast food papers and stale hot dog buns. Satisfied, the pigeon ruffles its gray wings and flies low along the road, watching the dashed yellow lines move faster and faster, until it is hit by a car. Here lies nature.
Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 2:36 PM UTC
When yours touched mine, fingertips bloomed yellow petals
that fluttered gently between our breath,
words built raindrops that rivaled the sun,
and I forgot the dahlias of past lives.
This was the creation of springtime-
a fleeting moment of neverending-
a season I had never felt before.
Your hands pulled blankets over my frosted shoulders
and my skin grew sunflowers in thirty-two degrees.
Jan 30, 2020
Jan 30, 2020 at 3:43 PM UTC
O my soul! How filled to the brim you are,
After ages of drought and sorrow.
You are, my dear, like a cloud, nimbostratus,
Who flies over sand, ocean, and clay.
You are but human; we cry salty tears
And your heartstrings absorb their ocean spray,
taking up their laughter, acid rain and
You billow up into the stratosphere;
O my soul- you can feel the warm sun!
In drought, you were stranded- cold and alone,
Your winds and precipitation, frozen.
Desperate hands could not even reach the sun.
O but feel! Now you're full of life and rain!
The wind! How it rushes! Your love! It pours!
Precious red drops overflow from your core.
With you, I watch as the world is colored with our love.
And I hope never to touch the ground again.
Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 3:51 PM UTC
Lo! Beware! The Nightman has cometh again.
His long pincered legs used to scuttle towards me,
black nightmares pumped fast through carnivorous veins,
as his exoskeleton: the moon, enslaved.
He spindled his thread, turned my skin gray, my eyes red.
Lethal snares held tight a soul begging for sleep.
And now the Nightman cometh slow.
But why? What hath changed?
He prowls the maze of my bedridden brain:
his thin legs limp one after two after eight,
his once strong silken web has sputtered, stalled out,
his shining armor seems to be in eclipse.
It is a parasitic relationship
and the host is dying out. .
Nov 10, 2019
Nov 10, 2019 at 6:53 PM UTC
Laughing, I say that I always fall in love
at the end of March:
"Maybe it's the spring sun, forgotten, thawing out again,
dripping its rays on my serotonin-deprived shoulders."
"Or could it be Christ? Hallelujah! He's risen again!
I praise the Lord, clasp my hands, recite Psalm 3.1415!
The word of the Lord. Thanks be to God."
But perhaps it's none of that, maybe
I've found my soulmate, mi media naranja.
Maybe the word at should be changed to with:
I've fallen in love with the end of March;
and I will see you again next year, my love.
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 2:08 PM UTC
"Hello, hallway, linoleum tile,
I can't really see you but
I hope you're there."
Green spiders crawl through my smoked-up veins,
their spindles weave their webs of red
under eyelids gravitating towards sleep.
Retinal film flashes; each blink is an
unprocessed, scared/ __ , broken reel.
"Put your hands," he says, "on mine.
Breathe, look into my eyes."
Shaking fingertips touch his; snowflakes
gently collide with sunny ground.
They were afraid to melt,
even though they might want to.
I wish it had been 33°.
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 2:02 PM UTC
I could never solely blame my God, he has been here for a while.
He's lost some hairs, chipped some teeth, it's understandable.
The cataracts are setting in, his hair grayed alongside the Bible,
He's a busy man, he's made mistakes,
and I am no stranger to his work.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC