The early evening dew 
crept up blades of grass 
and crawled across the rock wall 
beneath me as I waited. I waited 
for what seemed hours 
with breath short in my chest, 
rustling the autumn leaves above 
with each respiration. 
The moon 
peered low beneath wisps of clouds 
waiting as well to see if you'd really come. 
Though at your silhouette's promenade 
I'm certain, 
the stars began to shine, 
for the first time. 


hands bare and knuckles raw he refused to rest
until each supporting beam was secure, offering
a shelter for the innocent hearts he cherished


(Stuff & Matter)

no matter how much time she
devoted to putting all the
important stuff into her mind for
future reference and citation,
she was always finding more
matters of interest that she
simply couldn't do without

(Stuff & Matter)
A painting by Borgeous


honey lemon sunset fading into violet
i submit
to your wooing charms
draw me in your arms
away from the weary burdens that
threaten these shoulders and brows
i welcome
these quiet moments


shadowed times

they were shadowed times
displaced by a wall of flames
and its shroud of thick clouds
when soot inhabited my abode
and my domain was ephemeral
at best.


with a sure hand he made unhesitating
strokes, his brush casting bold, resolute
colors in acrylic. and i knew at once
that i would give anything this world had
to offer just to find my place on his canvas
amid such verdant shades of certainty.



dwarfed beneath the violent whirring
of the cicadas buzzing in the trees
silhouettes flying overhead against
the mandarin sunset in tandem with
the Nuthatch's two-noted squeak
i am left spinning in the shadows

Claudia over at dVerse has challenged us to make quick strokes of the world around us, to capture light & emotion. Here's my eve on the patio.


wide eyed

what were you doing?
while your dreams
danced recklessly through
your life and you
sat and watched
frozen in fear
wide eyed with wonder?


morning shave

silent shadows move across the wall
keeping time with the rhythmic swishing
of the badger hair brush, foaming shave
cream in a palmed ceramic mug. the
warm scent of sandalwood lingers long
after his straight razor is rinsed and
his morning ritual complete.


the flower

The sidewalk was barren, cracked,
concrete forgotten by time. Yet in
the shade of a tree, near a rust
stained edge, a negligible sprout broke
through, her cotyledon unfurling on a
delicate stem.

Seemingly similar to the weeds that grew
along the ragged and worn edge of the path,
she was overlooked at first. Though as she
grew in stature and stance, the shoot
garnered more than a passing glance.

One leaf, then two, the seedling showed
determination despite her unlikely
location. Pedestrians took notice now, in
wonder of her life. Uncertain how she arrived
they presumed she would find the strength
to survive. And so she did.

In time a bud emerged among the petiole,
burgeoning forth with unexpected force.
in parallel symphony, the roots urged back
the failing conglomerate walkway, and the
rich soil in which she was rooted was revealed.

This story isn’t over, her blossom is only now
dawning. Yet for this flower growing in the
crack of the sidewalk, there is hope in fertile
soil at my feet. 

Brian Miller challenged us to wax poetic about history, our own or otherwise this week at dVerse
"A flower in the crack of a sidewalk," is a phrase a dear friend has used to describe the peculiarity of my life story, one that I've attempted to surmise in this stanzas above. Enjoy!



muddled at the bottom of a copper cup
beneath crushed ice, bourbon splashed
lubricant to the Derby, and countless
other Kentucky summer nights


gray strands of cigar smoke
swirled over our heads
as we sat beneath the dark sky
on a warm summer's night

swirled over our heads
lingering in lazy circles
on a warm summer's night
amid our patio garden

lingering in lazy circles
fireflies romanced, flickering dance
amid our patio garden
hypnotizing our hearts

fireflies romanced, flickering dance
and you exhaled another wispy trail
hypnotizing our hearts
with carefully rolled Connecticut leaves

an excersize in pantoum, best explained by Samuel Peralta over at dVerse



at his prompting i did
i looked down at my own fingertips
and found
just me
and that is exactly all he said
i would ever need to be