a barren Land to be
with tail trembling beneath.
the Silence echoes,
like the noise a toddler makes in the next room
when it’s time to Worry.

the tornado Heart sees not its Destruction,
but grows with time,
takes the fuel it Found for its source,
and picks of speed.

It’s Coming.

the only preparation for a storm is to accept Defeat
and just pray, cross your fingers, and hope
that the roof Holds.

Water races beyond the blue
emptying from flooded cloud buckets
pouring into hills, once new.

The untouched ground astounded anew
finding this performance a beautiful sight
of water racing beyond the blue.

Comes again, that rainy view
tearing ways for personal navigation
pouring into hills, once new.

Tears falling to pursue
gravity’s lustful attraction
so water races beyond the blue.

An overpowering river-way avenue
stole this knoll’s virginity
after water raced beyond the blue
pouring into hills, once new.

she gazed out her large Window
into her deceptively handsome Garden,
the Ghost of her past lingering
around her fourth finger.
she used to covet such a Garden
when ignorance hid the effort needed.

It now begged for her
like a needy Child.

I had rid myself of love
I had rid myself of love
her eyes locked shut
refusing to open
to anything but an Ocean

tile’s embrace
and unconsciousness
provided the scenery
as she watched her Music
slowly ebb out to sea.

My fingertips graze over that
which I have yet to grasp.
Like a book, I see
the cover. I know
the summary.

Its hype is nearly unbearable.
I feel that without it,
I have yet to feel.
I feel that without it,
I have yet to feel.

A perk and a pain
A bliss and an absence.

Searches are futile. Empty
discoveries abound. Failure
is nearly inevitable. Authenticity
is scarce.

It possesses some power with
which it virtually rules over all.

My curiosity contends my logic and
my overwhelming antipathy conflicts my yearning.

I lack the longing that
follows a loss which
gives me pause.

As my ****** heart stares
at the void, a quivering light
emits from the candle of fear,
brushing the untouched walls, illuminating
the potentiality of destruction.

There is no day in which logic
does not step between my heart
and the void and start to board
up the place.

It is too risky, logic declares,
this place is uninhabitable.
But the naive, ignorant heart implores,

Just wait.

She can hear him again
around every corner
whispering in every thought
barking at her heels
brushing against her neck.

That summer will never leave
It’s rooted so deep
the very veins of its being
choke every nerve
every laugh
every reaction
every fall
every song
everything.

everything

She likes to pretend.
A new twist
on a childhood game.

but she knows
knows he hasn’t left
he runs his nails
              through her hair
                               before bed
then reads his favorite never ending bed time stories
worse than nightmares
worse than stench
worse than blood
worse than fear
never ending
never ending
never ending

A temptuous squirm,
a deceptive beauty.
Hearts upon
hearts upon
hearts awaiting
attention.

Fast moving fins
in time with heart’s pace,
he finally found food
in this famished place.

The bait is baited
heavy
and clean.
Her shimmer he sees
blinds all that is
mean.

The striking mask is all he sees
blocking the evil within--
her unrelenting hold
will summon a sharp pain.

Don’t take the bait.

Accidental introduction
Slow destruction
Deceptive beauty
Slow destruction
Accidental introduction

An invasive species
Not something with which to be reckoned
It can not be reversed
Not something with which to be reckoned
An invasive species

Superficial beauty
Brief Enjoyment
Ruinous existence
Brief Enjoyment
Superficial beauty

Tendrils of beauty
Tendrils of expiry
Self contradictory by definition
Tendrils of expiry
Tendrils of beauty

Taking everything needed for continuance of self
Removing what is needed for existence of everything else
Choking a red-faced, forlorn life
Removing what is needed for existence of everything else
Taking everything needed for continuance of self

There is no escape
The reach has extended too far for reversal
All that is left is acceptance of destruction
The reach has extended too far for reversal
There is no escape

There is no escape

A sky slipping into dreams
Can steal every notion of reality.
Those penetrating colors
ensnare senses.
A bright, dark blue
deeper than the ocean
A silk scarf, once white,
stretched across the deep
A color so rapturous,
it does not deserve a purple title.
How can you believe
that only light sheds felicity
when tonight is the hue of Joy?

It seems adequate
It always seems adequate
bring up the right foot
now the left
scream

why can no one hear me?

I’m on the floor
and I’m drowning in a
Shadow
again.

if I had at least attempted
to stay in the Sun,
then this beast of
Frustration
would stop mauling me.

Irony would scoff at me if I
asked for help.

Why are the woods so far away?  
I have to drive for hours to get out to the middle of nowhere,
Where nothing is
To be in the middle of everything that makes me feel alive.

I struggle explaining the extreme exhilaration I experience
Of my first few steps into the wilderness,
Untouched by technology,
To the very generation of technology.

It’s as if all the wires that tied me down are released
The second I take a deep inhale of the smell.
The smell of thriving Nature—
The trees
The grass
The tiny streams
The moss
The animals
EVERYTHING.
It all strips away the cords and the stress.
I can breathe freely once again.

Hiking and backpacking
Are the two things that keep me sane
In this fast-paced world.
I constantly feel as if I’m being ****** forward
At a pace that continually picks up speed
And there is
Nothing
I can do to slow it down.
It’s terrifying.

That’s where my Nature comes in
As soon as I’m in the woods,
The clouds fogging-up my brain disappear
And I am free.

It must be the consistency that calms me.
For the world is ever changing
And barreling into the unknown,
While Nature
Is a beautiful, relaxing cycle.

The trees are my pillars,
But there are no walls to hold me back.
The sky of wondrous colors
The trails of dirt beneath my feet
The insanity of tree roots
Delving in and out of my ground,
Searching for water.

Water.
Water that falls from the sky,
To the mountains
To thousands of trickles
That run together to form my rivers
Which are powerful and repetitive
And repetitive
And repetitive enough to shape mountains.

That always amazes me.
Because when you drink from that bottle of water you’re holding,
You don’t think about how powerful it is—
Powerful enough to transform
A mound of rocks and dirt
Into a breathtakingly, beautiful waterfall.

Waterfalls are one of my two favorite wonders.
The other is stars.
Not the stars YOU see
When you look up at night
And can count both of them,
Poking their heads in
To get a look at the goofy humans.

You don’t realize
That the street lamp you’re standing under
Is contributing to drowning out
All the twinkling stArs.

In the woods,
In my Nature,
When the smell of my hard-earned campfire
Envelops me,
I lean back on a log
And I can see them.

My heart stops. . .

And I wonder
Why street lamps were ever invented.
The stars blanket the sky
With a radiant shimmer
In such mass amounts
That you could play connect the dots
And make the Mona-Lisa.

It’s all there.
My Nature is always there.
Just waiting to remind me
That life goes on.

When a tree dies,
Life goes on.
When the water runs low,
It’s just a slow point, and life will go on.
When a friend moves,
Life goes on.
When life is confusing and depressing,
It’s just a slow point, and life will go on.

My Nature is always there.
My Nature isn’t mine
Because I own it,
It’s mine
Because it’s a reliable friend that keeps me sane in this crazy world.

Peeve growled
at the gnashing, hypocritical teeth
took a step back to avoid another fight.
His pacifism remained unnoticed,
his pride maliciously mauled again.

It’s difficult to beat a pair of dogs
demanding retreat
yet never retreating themselves.

He has doubled his weight,
newly found power pulses in his pupils,
his lacerated skin begs for revenge.

Legs fully cocked,
pleading for release.

Try growling now, *******.
I dare you.

As I watch the water explore the air faithfully,
I wonder where it comes from.
It rises
and it falls.
I want to be able to approach its origin,
discover why the water is compelled to
rise
and fall.
There simply must be a source.
This violent display of
rising
and falling
cannot exist without reason.
Alas, my searching is futile.
The rising
and falling
continue in spite of my ignorance.
Will the explosions of water always
rise
and fall?
Will they perhaps cease
if I find the very reason they faithfully
rise
and fall?
Or will I forever be impelled
to passively watch this persistent
rising
and falling?
I’m slowly beginning to give up the search
and started just hoping these monotonous eruptions
stop.

She invited shock to accompany her
at the bottom of her deep hole
she dug for herself.

                                                       ­                                He did not send it.

He protested her dangerous undertaking at first
but ignorant ears give attention to no one
dig
                                                dig
                                                   ­                                                   dig
                                        only to the task ahead.

When she pauses for some air
She won’t find him there,
He gave up on her.

                                           He
                        found                     his sanity
                  beneath                             the dirt
                   she had                             thrown out
                         of her                     deep
                                        hole.

 
“HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME!
What could I have done?!”
Only her electric veins
will be responsive.

He’s gone.

If your eyes can hear the words
If you ride phrases to another place
If your heart exhausts itself in submersion

The poem breathes success.

If the words claw at your eyes
If phrases keep you at a distance
If emotion is imbedded between each mark

The poem drowns.

Ring out the tears
and immediate reactions,
Hang out their sources to dry.
Inspiration reflects truer
after a strong wind of patience.

Letters of the day.
Perhaps Apollo snapped his string
And shot into the beings below:
Synecdoche.

Illuminate your ink markings,
said He,
My eyes long to see images leap from your words.
Write creatures, Write.

Interpretation was weaved together,
And the god was satisfied.
For these words began to walk,
Then dance all around him.

As the edges of his mouth curled upwards,
As the parts synchronized,
As the genus became the species,
As the species became the genus,
A new definition was formed.

The world celebrated the melodic movements
Of mere symbols.

Today’s world must continue the dance
Carry it through screen and paper,
So Apollo remains amused

As all watch the words sway with the wind.