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A Feb 2018
I had a dream, long ago,
Its visions have faded so,
But here, I will write it thus,
And it shall be my focus.

I dreamt I was in a white place,
That seemed to defy time and space,
I was alone for only a minute,
My only company would be a linnet.

I, at last, had a human companion,
But there would be an uncrossable canyon,
For she held a long knife,
And then I knew, my dream would have strife.

She cut off her finger,
Quite easily, I might add, and it was a dead ringer,
For a movie that I had seen,
Upon that mighty silver screen.

Another girl appeared after a moment,
Like the former had an opponent,
And she, too, did the grisly deed,
And I could only stare, though I tried to plead.

The whole place turned red with blood,
I watched, unmoving, as they moved through it like it was mud,
I wish I could have been able to stop my stare,
And I hope I never go back there.
Based off an actual dream I had a few weeks back.
A Feb 2018
Hold the sun in your hands,
Bring up the neon lights,
Take up those lively stars,
And spread them across the nights.

Take apart the threads of reality,
The moon smiles down,
You're the only one,
Who lives in this town.

Your life is an aesthetic,
A pastel and grey nightmare,
You stare at the neon lights,
And can't go anywhere.
A Nov 2018
I wonder what it would be like to live
Somewhere else
Without him.
I tell him.
He makes a face.
"You're not going anywhere."
The car keeps moving.
Part Three.
A Apr 2019
April is the pouring rain
Frog beats and birthday wishes
Warm nights and short clouds
Wrapped in foggy breaths.
A Feb 2018
Sometimes people don't want to let go,
Sometimes they beg to stay,
Sometimes they want to be on earth,
Their death makes them sad, but there is no other way,
And no matter where they go, heaven or hell,
Their sorrow follows their souls, even on a bright new day,
And when their sobbing specters arrive at eternity's gate,
Their hearts are still and emptier still,
And with their emptiness they must wait.
Inspired by Vincent Van Gogh's painting of the same name.
A Apr 2018
Biophilia is described as
a love of life and
the living world
the affinity of human beings  
for other life forms.  

I suppose it could mean
loving everything you can
the sunlight on your face  
insects buzzing in the air
the dusks and dawns
of a hundred summer nights.  

It could mean your love
for your pet fish
for your dog
for the cat that you don't own
but comes up to you every day
and lets you pet it

Biophilia could mean  
a wish for better
a longing for more
the want for every
single life form to be happy.  

It could mean  
caring for a flower you planted
in the spring with dew holding down  
a million tiny clovers
dotting the lawn.
The definition is from
A Nov 2018
"You're nothing but cannon fodder,"
He sneers,
"You weren't made to love, sweetie.
You were made to ****.
To hurt.
To die.
And there is absolutely nothing that can change that."
Part One.
A Jan 2019
To whom am I bound,
On this winding road,
As I dream of better things,
But with chains that bind me and pull me back,
Two steps for a single one,
The world at my fingertips and yet so far away,
Dirt on my weathered boots,
I sing a lonesome tune.
A Sep 2018
I glimpse above a
Cobalt chocolate sundown, you
Chasing violet.
A Jan 2018
Chasms spread easily.

It only takes a second,
A blink,
And the earth yawns up before whoever had made it.

Perhaps they look at their chasms with regret,
Their voices sorrowful and muffled.

Or they are prideful,
Thinking they have done a great deed,
But when really they are shattering themselves.

Sometimes chasms form quietly.

They spread like crackling poison,
Starting small and growing.

Sometimes I fear,
There are chasms within us all,
And we will never be able to cross them.
A May 2018
Red is a sunset,
Warming the summer air.
It is fighting at all hours,
Spilled liquid on the ground.

Red is poppies spreading across a field,
Petals soft as a hand strokes them.

Orange is a leaf falling to the ground,
Pumpkins sitting on porches,
Children laughing, saying
Trick or Treat!

Orange is baking pies for a holiday,
And saying thank you when it's needed.

Yellow is the sun beating down,
Browning backs and helping growth,
Bouncy ***** in coin machines,
Highlighters marking up a page.

Yellow is sunflowers,
And a bow in a child's hair.

Green is leaves dappled with sunlight,
Smelling cut grass in the early morning,
Apples tossed into the air,
Grasshoppers jumping when a shadow passes.

Green is the ding as the cashier hands change,
Receipts rolling out, tearable paper.

Blue is a thunderous wave,
Crashing against a pale shore,
Wearing at stone and land,
Seeping through the cracks.

Blue is a pen signing a piece of parchment,  
A snowflake touching an uncovered nose.

Purple is amethyst in a crown,  
The rustle of a cape against the floor,  
A gilded throne in a stone room,  
Jewels weighing down a smooth collarbone.  

Purple is a rosary clasped in fingers,  
An old's man's words as they touch the air and fall.  

Black is eyes that come from fiery depths,  
An aristocrat's smile,  
Empty rooms of an abandoned home,  
Tears falling on a wooden floor.  

Black is a scythe held in skeletal fingers,  
A scepter held beside a throne.

Grey is pressing keys and forming words,  
Clouds coming in from a dark sky,  
A belt worn in a triangle,  
Eyes that hold only one emotion.  

Grey is a pencil's lead snapping on paper,  
Drawn rain with no umbrella.
This is essentially what I'd say if someone asked me to describe colors.
A Nov 2018
I find myself
Waiting for the end
Begging it to come
The sticky sweet beginning
That drags its rotted body to the eyes of
the Sun and stars
And I
Cannot wait
For the cycles to close.
A Feb 2018
It comes quietly,

In the night,

A moonlit passing.

It comes loudly,

In a crash

A battle

Lit by the sun

The moon

LED lights

It creeps into everyday lives.

And takes what lives there.
A Nov 2018
Sometimes I dream
Of secret, flitting things
That dance in my memory like dew on the grass
Dissolving in the sunny rays
That awaken me each morning.
A Nov 2018
"Do you believe in dreams?
In love and hope and happily ever afters?"
His eyes are intense.
"Do you believe in change?"
I shake my head for no.
He laughs.
"Me neither."
Part Two.
A Mar 2019
i dream of bitter things,  
of small seeds,  
of roots growing in the soil
of fruits borne by salted trees
eat bitter, taste sweet
A Jan 2018
It echoes in the stillness,
A man's final words,
The impact of the passing,
Can still be heard.

It echoes in the quiet places,
People whisper it could be better,
With insincere faces,
And the echo comes again.

Still as death,
It looms in the night,
One might take a breath,
And have it stolen away.

It never occurred to them
That he might not be okay,
That this could have all stopped,
And he'd be here today.

There are so many things that could be better,
The echo would cry out,
Then life would begin,
And we could all go about.
A poem on the effects of suicide.
A Jan 2018
The Sun took the Moon's hand,
And they began to dance.

There wasn't really a sound to be heard,
Not even the trill of a celestial bird,
But they danced.

They danced for hours,
Among pretty starlit flowers,
They laughed, they sang,
And the music in their hearts rang.

But at the end of the event,
They knew they had to part,
So the Sun left with the Moon,
A piece of her heart.

So they wait for the next,
And perhaps they'll be together,
In this life or another,
Dancing in a permanent eclipse.
A Mar 2018
I'm drifting on an endless sea,
All I hear is the rolling waves,
As I drift so quietly,
My hope begins to break.

I'm drifting in this endless sea,
All I see is eternal blue-green,
As I find my heart is silent,
It begins to shatter.

I'm drifting with this endless sea,
All I know is hunger and thirst,
As my old radio crackles,
The last bit of power fades.

I'm drifting on an endless sea,
All I feel is the power of the tide,
As my raft is thrown about,
My body sinks down.

I'm sinking in an endless sea,
All I know is that I'm drowning,
As my breath leaves in a cloud of bubbles,
I begin to die.

I'm floating in this endless sea,
All I feel is fear,
As my hands close around water,
Death is very near.

I'm swimming through this endless sea,
All I see is saltwater,
As my arms desperately stroke,
My lungs taste the air.

I'm treading this endless sea,
All I see is the hull of a ship,
As my arms wave at the crew,
They notice me there.

I'm out of the infinite sea,
All I know is that I'm free,
As a blanket wraps around my shoulders,
I know that it's all right.
A poem on being stranded after a shipwreck.
A Jan 2019
I'll give you my fingers,
If I get your bones,
You can have my arms,
If I can take your skull.

You can take my heart, beating, from my chest,
I'll have yours in return,
If it isn't the best.

I'll give you my thoughts, wrapped up in saran,
If I can have your dreams,
The fastest in your clan.

It'll be a trade-off,
So easy you'll see,
So take me and I'll take you,
We'll fill in those empty spots,
That just won't do.
A Jan 2018
With broken wings and body I fly,
It's all I can do, so I try,
The simple words I cannot say
Have taken all my lives away.

Even if my heart shall break,
And all my loves I shall forsake,
I cannot help but be betrayed
By the love yet unpaid.

So to myself, I keep this trial,
Through suppression and denial,
And with it, I start to shatter,
But you don't know me

So it doesn't matter.
A Nov 2017
My grief is magnified by love,
For there are no chances,

I hold a funeral for tomorrow,
With all its ups and downs,
And everything it holds.

The bright scars of yesterday,
Loathe the unmarred tomorrow,
And in that jealousy,
It took tomorrow away.

I hold a funeral for yesterday.
A Jan 2018
Can you
See me
Standing here
Quietly and full of fear?

Should I
Back to the shadows and back to the fear
Back to the ghost of yesterday?
A Apr 2018
Everything is grey,
The sunrise is so muted,
Drowning everything,
It cannot be disputed,
Everything is grey.

Everything is grey,
No happiness, no strife,
My hands, my thoughts,
My dreams, my life,
Everything is grey.

I watch from a place far away,
A silent, lonely visitor,
I don't like to stay,
Because, because, because,
Everything is grey.
A Jan 2019
Lifeblood (Poem 1)

They called me the sun. I used to rain my light down upon them like it was my lifeblood, torn from my veins and arteries for them, for them, for them. They took it and hid it away, my blood, using it for their own gain. Some might have screamed Praise the sun! but for naught, as their brethren took and took and took and I was left a withering husk of my former glory, no longer golden, clouds on my once-fair brow. There was no glory in dying alone, without a battlefield or comrades. And for what? They complained, complained, pushing their hate towards me, for it was too dry, too hot, too much, too much, too much. How would I know? They wished for me on rainy days, hated me on the sunny. I was never balanced, I was always giving and taking too much.

To A Moonlit Dream I Can't Recall (Poem 2)

I dreamt in slow waves, shining so bright that the dark was chased away from the fair sheep I tended. My brother was off with his own, dusty with his own exhaustion when the day broke over and bled into the night. He was never much for talking, but when I spied on him, hidden in dark groves, he was alight, fiery with his own happiness and pride, until the sheep began to complain and the clouds crept in to watch. Wolves, were they, but I paid them no mind, for my sheep ran where they could not follow, to gossamer hills filled with hopes they could never express elsewhere. When my fingers ran in ribbons through their wool, the fair strands separating and splitting, dewdrops on a window pane, I sheared them, weaving tapestries of what they created within the confines of themselves.  

When my brother came wandering in one day, his arms ****** with his own life, splashing golden on the tiles, I could do nothing. We were our own shepherds, we could not take each other's flock. The day could not replace the night, as I could not replace my brother. I could do nothing to assist him, could not ease his pain. He would have to continue bloodletting, to give his sheep his blood until he was drained. My teardrops were on the fire until the night spread in thick tendrils on the floor.
These are a pair of prose poems I wrote for a prompt on Write the World. As I like darker takes on mythological characters, the two here are Helios and Selene, the Sun and Moon in Greek mythology.
A Feb 2018
Hello, darkness,
With your black, inky folds,
Seeming closer than ever now,
I've found you again.

Hello, sorrow,
With your tight, crushing embrace,
I still bear the marks,
Like a child's scraped knee.

Hello, anger,
With your red-hot grip,
You left scars on my soul,
For all to see.

Hello, sadness,
With your drowning, blue tide,
There's still some liquid,
Left in my eyes.

Hello, again,
I can still see you.
Waiting in the shadows of the horizon,
Like a predator about to catch its prey.
A Feb 2018
Hello, Anonymous,
From my internet screen,
You might be a straight guy or a screaming queen.

Hello, Anonymous,
Person I don't know,
Can you tell me why the wind must blow?

Hello, Anonymous,
In the chatroom,
For all I know, you could be a vacuum.

Hello, Anonymous,
You don't know me either,
How about we stay that way,
And we continue our chat later today?
A poem on chatrooms and the internet.
A Nov 2017
The first time she sees him, she's twelve.

Her hands were twiddling with dials,
Her hair was tied in a messy bun,
Her clothing rumpled and stained with grease.

He walks over, his hands in his pockets,
and asks,
"What are you making?"

She doesn't answer,
Absorbed in the machinery,
But when her shoulder is tapped, she jumps,
and wonders who he is.

"It seems like such a hard thing to do,"
He remarks, standing over her,
Staring into the depths of the old radio.

The second time she sees him, she's fifteen.

She had changed over the three years,
Her hands no longer mess with dials,
and her clothes are clean and unwrinkled.

He's standing in the middle of the hallway,
Staring numbly at the floor as
Bullies push and taunt him.
Not once does she see him flinch at a hit or an insult.

The boys around him eventually move away,
Shouting one last mockery over their shoulders
Before they vanish.

She approaches  
but is pushed away.
She doesn't try to talk to him again.

The third time she sees him, she's twenty.

The years have worn upon her,
And she's taller now,
More mature.
Her hands provide comfort to the injured and dying.

Her professors praise her calm hands and demeanor,
And they give her a project,
A partner project,
With him.

They work throughout the days and nights,
Becoming friends.
But when college ends, they split.

She gets into a fight with him,
And screams insults at him.
He walks away,
And doesn't come back.

The fourth and final time she sees him, she's twenty-seven.

She works as a paramedic, saving people,
And she's given an assignment to a burning house.
When she arrives,
She finds the house aflame and a man who needs help.

She tends to his various wounds,
And when they arrive at the hospital,
He's whisked away.

She grows closer to him, the man she saved,
And they date.

Then she realizes she fell in love with him.
Based on my experiences with crushes and people who come in and out of my life.
A Nov 2017
How do I make a poem?
How do I take the blank page, my canvas,
Dip my brush in ink,
And write well enough to make others cry?

How do I make a poem,
One that is like a bird,
That flies away into the minds of the readers?
That makes a nest in their very soul?

And what are the words I use?
Are they big?

I think I know the answer.

You don't write for others.

You write from the heart,
The soul,
From yourself.

Who cares if it's unpopular? It's your poem.

And that makes it beautiful.
This is for everyone who writes poetry, whether they be "popular" or not.
A Feb 2018
It's a party,
Time to celebrate,
I'm trying to get away,
Oh no, they're bringing out the cake,
I guess I'll have to wait.

I could be having a good read,
I could be watching Netflix,
I could be pretending I have a great black steed,
But instead...

I'm stuck with people I barely know,
In some unknown person's place,
Oh my god, is that Terry?
It's been weeks since I've seen her face.

I wish I was at my own house,
With my cat and with my pajamas,
Where the only thing louder than a mouse,
Would be my television screen.
A Feb 2018
It's a party,
Something to celebrate,
I stand in the corner,
And I'll just have to wait
For it to be all over.

I could be reading,
Or collecting summer clover,
But I'm listening to people, who are screaming,
I kind of regret having friends.
Introverts, am I right?
A Jan 2018
I would have liked to live from a world long ago,
Where dragons felt real and mythology was known,
I would have liked to talk about the gods,
Their shapes and sides and their place in the home.

I would have liked to live in a world of magic,
With fairies and elves abound,
When people took the time to talk,
And nature could be found.

I would have liked to live in a new place,
Even if it's in outer space,
I would have liked to travel and make a new story,
One that ends in a blaze of glory,
But I'm

So I'll make a new world,
One of my own,
With all of the magic that I had known.
A Jan 2018
It shows itself in little traces,
In many different places,
It might be just a glitch,
Or it might just be the cinch.

It shows itself in small ways,
Over many different days,
A word, a phrase, a sentence,
And dims down brilliance.
A Nov 2017
I've always been good at logic.
That's what kept me sane.
Even with strange people around,
Logic helped my brain.

But with emotion,
Logic is as useless
as a:
Worm or an appendix, to list.

How do I solve this puzzle,
One that spans space and time,
A great mystery,
The one that spreads its feathers across history.
This is about confusing emotions.
A Mar 2018
Helios prepared his golden steeds,  
Each huffing and pawing at the waves of Oceanus,  
Alectrona raised her arms, and Eos woke from her slumber.  

The chariot was lashed to his stallions,  
And slowly, the sun god rose.  

Eos spread her fingers across the sky,  
And as he rose, a fiery flare bringing day,  
Threads of pink illuminated the clouds as purple ribbons split the darkness.  

Phanes lent Helios light as he rose on the mountain in the sky,  
Orange twined its way through fields of blue,  
A blazing scythe that cut away everything but itself.  

Clouds that had formed by Zeus were gathered like birds,  
And as Helios passed, they lit from within with scarlet joy,  
And the laughter of Tethys echoed as she made the white fleece of the heavens.  

Farther and farther he climbed the mountain in the sky,  
And the heavens turned a bright blue,  
The orange scythe that had cut away the onyx and navy fields  
Faded away to return the next day.

When at last day had truly begun,  
And Hemera had truly awakened,  
There was only a purple horizon,  
By that mountain in the sky.
This is based on Greek mythology and the sunrise I saw today, which was too spectacular for words. All figures mentioned are actual mythological characters.
A Nov 2017
What is a name?
Is it a species, a link,
Something to tell us all about something?

And what is a face?
We make faces for everything,
From courage to beauty.

For us,
Captain America is courage,
Or Theodore Roosevelt,
Our mothers,
Sisters, family, friends.

We have names and faces for beauty as well,
Like someone who has always kept fighting,
Or Wonder Woman,
Or a favorite actor or singer,
And beauty is personified.

And what am I in this?

I am not beauty, or grace, or anything else.
I am just me, and I have a name.
But my name to me is the name I wear,
And I'll forever be known by
That fateful, eternal, unbreakable-

A Aug 2019
To end a broken star,
Galaxies twist a turn from afar,
Hearts of lions know where they rest,
Upon the lonely plains,
And to end a place, to dream,
Upon the lilies, resting frogs,
A mouse trapped, stinging bog,
As the bird sings and screams.
For this prompt on Write the World by Poets and Wordsmiths: "This prompt is simple, dear poets. Borrow the title from Hilda Raz’s stirring poem, “Narrative Without People” (full poem copied below for further inspiration), and write your own poem—a narrative in which no human characters appear."
A Jan 2018
I'm pink, I'm purple, I'm blue,
And I don't know what to do.

I'm not rainbow,
I'm not black and white,
I contain no yellow in myself,
But pink and purple feel right.

I have a blue,
As bright as the evening sky,
It's not like a clear day,
So I am dark blue today.

And I'll be pink tomorrow,
No matter what you say,
So don't mind my pride,
'Cause I'll be purple forever,
And I won't run and hide.
A Apr 2019
Iced coffee brew
Cars in a monoxide stew

Wind on a pigeon's back
Paper pierced by a tack

Tapping feet, concrete floor
Spray paint on the decor

Cold air swept in lungs
Gum rolled across sugar tongues

Change in a rough hand
Canned tomatoes, name brand

Pillars scraped by the sky,
They stare down, eagle eye.
I'm writing this for a competition, so...comments and reviews would be fantastic. The poem is based on the rhythms of cities. The one described here is Kansas City.
A Mar 2018
The gazelle sits in quiet repose,  
In its flighty heart, it knows,  
There is no predator nearby,  
And it scans the sky with an eagle's eye.  

In the grass, fifty feet away,  
The lion waits in the heat of the day,
It stalks the gazelle with the silent tread of a ghost,  
As it patrols on its outpost.  

The gazelle tenses quickly, it knows there's something there,  
It stands in the grass, looking everywhere.  
There! Near the tree! The tip of an ear,  
It starts to bound away, the lion very near.  

The lion starts as the gazelle runs,  
It licks its lips in anticipation of great fun,  
The chase is on! The lion gains,  
Its tawny coat covered in mud stains.  

It takes only a moment, but the gazelle turns,  
The lion skids to the side and the soft ground churns,  
It leaps after the gazelle, the tail of which is seen,  
The lion jumps on the gazelle's back, their tussle is lost in the green-

A moment later, the lion jumps up, the gazelle lying dead,  
The former grabs the broken body and begins to walk ahead,  
The vultures shrilly cry,  
The gazelle had been killed in only a blink of an eye.
A poem on predator and prey.
A Nov 2018
I believed myself limitless,
A god, if you will,  
Unbound by nature and my own mortality,  
Or so I thought,  

My hands clasped together,  
In applause or another's grasp,  
Unknowing of my and others' fates,  
And such is the folly of youth.  

I once drank fine wine,  
And bit into apples like those of Eden.

My "friends" were the same,  
And I thought of us as loyal fellows,  
In war and peace.  

It was not to be.  

On the fringes of revolution,  
Hanging onto it's fragile coattails,
There was a new danger,  
The hatred of me and anyone like me,  
Those blessed by birth and standing.

I learned quickly of my own ability to fall,  
Off a pedestal of my own design and otherwise,  
And those I considered friends fled,  
And my so-called comrades betrayed.  

It was a swift execution,  
The beheading swift and true,
They hung a man after me,  
Some said it took an hour for him to die.  

Now we wander these once-princely ruins,  
Afraid of what lies beyond the mortal plane,
Yet craving it,  
Some have gone insane,  
Others sit in corners and fade into nothingness.  

I am neither.  

I tell my story to the winds,
To the crashing sea beyond these crumbling walls,  
To the birds and the sky.  

Sometimes, on the lonely days,  
When the sun is buried beneath fat clouds,  
And the cool West wind flows over my insubstantial skin,  
I can see the barest glimpse of what was once here.  

It lasts a mere instant,  
Then a seagull will shriek,  
And both I and the ruins will fade.
A Feb 2018
I can add some cobalt,
Perhaps it will turn blue,
Sh*t, I made the beaker explode,
There's glass stuck in my shoe.

Crap, the gas is turned too high,
My project's looking grave,
I find myself wishing for death,
And to crawl into a cave.

Dissecting makes my guts squirm,
I find myself with disgust,
At the sight of the frog that I just cut open,
Its organs covered in a thin crust.

To science, I extend a hand,
Perhaps of friendship, perhaps of hate,
But god forbid if I have to *****,
And I'm two minutes late.
To my science teachers, all of whom I hated and liked in turn. May dissecting never faze you!
A Nov 2017
My sister has a secret,
About her boyfriend,
She says her relationship's going to end.

My mother has a secret about my dad,
Whenever she talks about him,
She isn't very glad.

My aunt has a secret,
It fills her with glee,
Her secret is that she'll be able to see.

I have a secret, but please don't tell,
It's about me,
And I'm not doing well.
A Nov 2017
I see a broken sky,
Painted in black,
And all the birds,
They'll drown,
Drown in their sorrow.

And even when they call out,
Screaming for a new day,
A new place,
No one will answer.

Because the gods will all have left,
For a less shattered place,
One whole and new and there.

I see a broken sky,
Painted in black,
And all the birds,
They'll drown,
Drown in their sorrow.

And all the flowers,
They'll wither,
Wither from the force of the darkness that
Will forever bind them.

And I see those broken skies,
Shattering away,
The ****** arising.

And the painted sky,
An alabaster illusion,
Will implode,
And their stardust will be spread.

And when that mirage has faded,
Everything will be new,
And whole,
And pure.

And then the world could breathe,
For the pain had faded.
A Dec 2017
Have you ever
Had emotions roll over like a storm,
An orchestrated catastrophe
Of words and color and sound,
Crashing over you until you want to drown.

You look up into stormy skies,
And remember when,
All there was
A Jan 2018
I used to look up at the sky
With hopes and dreams and lullabies
But I don't anymore,
And I don't know why.
A Feb 2019
are we children, or are we spies
in this city of disguise
when heaven calls,
and the wall falls,  
who will pass us by?
A Jan 2018
Eternal, Celestial
The stars brighten the sky
Glimmering, Ethereal
This is a diamante poem, which I haven't used the format of which in years. This was a small experiment.
A Jan 2019
Gold rings on slim fingers
Long eyelashes batting, bright
Amounting to the moment, no value when the night runs
Men laughing, their eyes full of unbridled lust
Only the tinkling of glasses, carried on a breeze
Rushing champagne from a bottle, embossed with the best label
Outrageous fashions, the fabric thin enough to rip
Under twinkling stars, the players move on
Snakes all of them, their fangs shining in the light.
A Jan 2018
Gossip spreads,
Tears drop,
They break up and get back together.

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