the skies seem lusher without you
and the bluegrass sways and twirls
to the sweet song of the wind
the sun peers from above,
its rays piercing the cumulus,
a masterpiece painted with ease

we were over before we were done
gratitude mingles with sorrow's lament
juxtaposing the emotions i'd buried
beyond the bounds the universe had meant

my time here is a fleeting apparition,
a realization beyond comprehension
loss has haunted the undeserving,
a demonic possession unbeseeched

apocalyptic prophecies in nightly visions
with rhododendron blushing in the tropical heat
bloodstains bleached from a white cut-off
wiped clean of our deceit  
lies grasp at the strings of my soul
trembling hands persist through the moonlight
while beaded sweat races to the blue ribbon
that signals our race's culmination
as unfamiliar eyes stay focused on a life
they forgot they know nothing about

the globular plasma recedes beyond the clouds,
its outline a perfect sphere
with no deviation in circumference;
the marigold hue protrudes through the pines
as the soft fog spreads across the hillside
horizontal rolls dip into oblivion,
an instinctive rollercoaster laden with greenery

mindful cognizance grants keen perception,
releasing the toxic love poisoning my core
the shackles that once bound me in a stupor
are cast away, freeing me to my aspirations

nature, embracing with unconditional grace,
welcomes me without a trace of judgment --
as I gaze into its soulful eyes, I smile,
taking deep breaths, in its embrace, at ease.

Sometimes, I think I feel too much, like I crossed into a world of shadows; like there's been some kind of mistake.
Life seems to sharp, to vivid,
too right there in my face.
I feel like a stranger.  It's as if I were on a bus, and out of the tinted windows, things looked vaguely familiar. I pull the string and get off.
It's the wrong stop, it's the wrong world. The bus has disappeared;
there's no way home.  I used to stand on a bridge that a river flowed under. And off in the distance, high atop the ash trees, the eagles were nesting. They were so beautiful and serene.
I can't watch them anymore. It breaks my **** heart to see all the concrete and construction inch closer and closer to the little slice of heaven they found in a piece of nature
that seemed vaguely
familiar.

Across the track, a rail yard worker
big innocent bear of a guy, beer
belly, embraces his girl. She’s
a conductor, comes up to that belly,
reaches arms not quite around
his back. They separate and embrace
three times while the train prepares
for departure.
                           Across the aisle,
a mother and son. Lights out, change engines,
they play Mercy. Squeeze fingers until one
cries mercy. The son still too small
to seriously challenge his young, athletic
mother. Ask and answer questions, laugh
and cry mercy, she draws and he colors
the features.
                         Unless a society
expects its fate to be better than its past,
it will strive to make its present
immutable as possible.
Optimism is a way of exploring failure.
It says there is no law of nature
or supernatural decree preventing progress.
Nearly all failures, and all successes, are in
our future.

I’m proud of myself
I was genuine and authentic
I felt myself grow
And become
The person I wish to be
In my soul.

I preferred apathy
A quiet release
Of tension in my shoulders

I chose kindness
Accepting the guilt
It inevitably comes with

I mixed and matched
My mind, my soul, my heart
In a flurry of greys

I basked, unbothered
In a meaninglessness
Of my own creation

Take a step forward
The air is cold
And the grass soft to touch

i have written
hundreds of poems.
in reading them over,
i find that
i have written
only a little bit of
poetry.

the passing of time,
the seasons,
of scenery
and people,
have scarred me;
embittered me.
i am now a more rigid person.

i dismiss my older writing as
pretentious;
uninspired;
misguided.
i wonder if
i should suffer the same verdict
when i,
once more,
re-evaluate.

in light of such a thought,
i marvel at
how little poetry
can be squeezed from a single life.

Finding the flow
The balance
The art
Of fulfillment
And letting go
Knowing when to say yes
When to say no
Self care at its best
Proof that I’ve grown.

I’m right where I’m supposed to be
Right here, right now

Letting go
Letting go
Letting go
Of all that does not serve me
Of all that stunts my growth

Breathing in
Breathing in
Breathing in
Bravery
Patience
And compassion

To spread love and light
In the kindest of fashions.