Poetry · Writing

Straw Heart

Break down these straw walls,

warm hands craft and cold

demolition. Architect of

who I was, and the

catalyst of who I am now.

Your sweltering hands divide

the water around these walls.

Drawbridge was only a suggestion,

perfume worked my chains;


you walked right back in.

Poetry · Writing

Breaking News

Take three:

The night, the current,

strangled the life with

natures cuffs. The light of

Diana broke the silence,

She sat with her hands in his,

waiting for his lips to move.

White light covered his lids,

the future he envisioned,

and her cold hands looking

for a flare of warmth.

The white light crept into

a brief opening, than closed,

than opened like a revolving door.

The cool breeze stole the air

from his lungs and ripped them

to the stream and tied them

with bricks and chains.

He crept close, “You sure?”

Take four:

Poetry · Writing


The knuckles drew life

red rushed rapidly round

his jaw. The knuckles

kissed the mandible and

a canine barked until reaching

the stage.

I saw Daisy covering her eyes

screaming at the red life

flowing around the

honored court.

Miscreant’s hands would never

lay his hands on a queen again.

On his queen,

crowns flew to the subjects below,

before the first dance.


Poetry · Writing

First Date

She watched him

walk past the light post

that he passed

the very first night

after the movies.

The movie was

mediocre, popcorn

expensive, monopoly.

He forgot his jacket,

she held it closer

with each step into 

the cold night.

Idle, motionless,

eyes burning from

the gentle breeze,

never left his heels.

Poetry · Writing


felt it

when you touched my hand

when you whispered in my ear

when you said my poems were good

when you smile in my general direction.

Maybe I was just in a lucky room
blue drapes around the rainbow carpet.

I like to believe it was because of me. Faulty

reasoning on a butcher’s knife two hams

away from a sandwich.

She’ll ask me later what that means.

I’ll tell her it was just so you

could talk to me for an hour or two.


Poetry · Writing


Highway flying ninety-

five, stallions in the sky.

Wings of an angel


took the wheel. Didn’t

ask what kind she was.

Dropped dialogue, Dionysus


watched the Stallion

fly his last race. Shotgun

rested at the mercy


of the gods touch.

He looked through me,

the lights carried his eyes.


They met me at the barrel

of the tree. Covered in life,

tears in my eyes,

if only they were mine.


Poetry · Writing


Started from inferior, we all did,


Climbing superior like

aisle seven. Makeshift

titles, they’re real, eleven.

Cardinals fly, with their heart

on their sleeve, valiantly. Envious

of the wings to break the atmo-

sphere tonight, through the day,

to land on your shoulder

just one more time.