By |

Day dawned dreary
skies grey and void
my pack, heavy
my motivation, waning.

Press on, I must.
No other options
if you don’t count death,
or obsolescence.

Onward, my mantra
however disheartening.
My stomach filled
with meager portions
and sleep supplied
within stringent parameters.

Scarcely enough to sustain…

Struck down as I was
with the numbing hardship
of the onslaught,
I feared reward
was no longer viable
but that did not prevent
hope from creeping in,
from coloring the blackness with
pastels and birdsong,
luscious shades of creamy
dreamfulness,
choirs of joyful redemption,
teal trumpets and scarlet saxophones.

Truly, that is the only thing
that kept me going.

By |

We set out on a path
of wavy, winding light.
Cobblestones deeply grooved,
made more prominent
with tricks of photography,
voila! the finished product.

Skylarks in distant meadows
feed their young
nesting on the ground,
easy prey for red-winged
messengers in the early light.

Street lamps lit by ocean spray
small boats, helpless, in the rocky cove.
Abandoned relics
mute and silent
aside from the cries
of ravens and rooks
on hurried wings.

The glory of the sun retreats,
beauty in its own right.
Night falls.

We are spent.
Rest, now.

Rest.

By |

The tall grass hides me
it sways in the breeze
tickling my cheeks, my bare thighs.

On my back
the earth cool and damp beneath me
I search the sky
groovin’ on the cirrus clouds overhead
so many lifetimes beyond my reach
a dome of invincibility
I will be reluctant to leave behind

some fine future day.

Summer lasts forever
when you’re barely fourteen.

By |

You think your world is bigger than mine,
and any slights that invade your space
carry more weight,
inflict more pain,
require a heftier penance.

I’m tired of believing this is true,
of going all in on self-loathing,
defending myself for what I know
are sometimes just good intentions gone wrong.

So weary of thinking I’m simply not enough.

By |

June bugs spin,
inverted,
on the cool, damp garage floor
at half past midnight

thoughts of gangrene catch in my throat —
tube-socks filled with lime Jello shots
tempt me from the task at hand —
a testosterone-crazed Min-Pin

leaping and lunging
desperate to savor the beetle-crunch
in its powerful jaws
when all I wanted him to do

was go potty.

By |

the heart is a sovereign nation
its emissaries en route to distant lands
by way of narrow channels
congested highways
speedboats on a mission
racing through bloody waters
dispensing life-quenching nutrients
to a parched, needy and often ungrateful host…

By |

Traversing the vast Kalahari,
a threadbare bandana kept the grit
at bay, sheltering teeth and nostrils.
Damp from the condensation

of my labored breathing, the fabric chafed.
I faltered briefly at the ancient portal, its
rocky underpinnings a deterrent,
the arid plains before me a windswept desolation

of crumbling decay. I surveyed the old kingdom
and pressed on. Soon, silence on all sides.
I lowered my kerchief, keen with relief
knowing I was safe from my pursuers
as sizzling skies gave way to subtle blues and pinks.

Then black.

The wind ceased in its fury, no longer perpendicular
to my forward momentum. Uncoupled from
my bulging rucksack, I bedded down for the night
sheltered by the cool darkness.

Come dawn, I would resume, fearful once more.
Rest, now, for this body and a rekindling of the spirit.

Fiercely awakened
after years of emptiness,
there is nothing to hold me back
despite my fears,
despite the longing,
despite the doubt.

By |

Thunder rumbles in the distance
from the western horizon:
the promise of rain.

Good.

Body caked in sweat
baseball cap corralling
a Monday case of unruly hair.
Yet I resist a shower,
the groove of my day
doesn’t yet include
body wash and shampoo.

Not just yet anyway.

I’m enjoying this time alone
pretty much like every 24/7.
Why is that, I wonder?

Little plinks of rain,
staccato formation.
I sit under a shallow eave:
I’m protected enough.
Northwest sky is hazy,
the clouds heavy and full.

Bird feeders are still
just like the air.

Quiet envelops me
as it always does.
I don’t fear it.
I welcome the silence
and embrace it.
It fills me, somehow.

Butterfly high in the sky
against a backdrop
of encroaching cloud cover.
When the storm arrives
where will it fly?
Will it go wherever the elements take it?

Questions I’d not yet ever pondered.

I like it out here
surveying my world
my special place of retreat:
my sanctuary.

Clouds are moving northward
warm air from the south, then.
Atmospheric forces at play
for something spectacular, perhaps.
As with the silence,
I welcome this too.

There’s a throaty growl.
The storm is moving closer.

Mr. Monarch is flying lower now;
it glides and dips above the grass
unconcerned with wind speed,
precipitation,
temperature fluctuations.
I should be so nonchalant,
focusing solely on charting
my own travels and adventures.

My new winged friend
flits in and out of my line of sight
unwittingly imparting
new perspectives on how to live one’s life.

I shall remember this moment.

By |

She leans into
his receptive body,
toggle set to INTEREST,
perhaps INTENT.

Other messages posted too,
aimed at all comers
male and female:
This is mine.
This is where I choose to be.

The boy stood still and smiled,
all warm inside.
He’d not ever known this.

And inside his eager brain,
a yellow neon light:
Proceed, but with caution.
Protect your heart.
Always.
Protect your heart.