Latest Poems
The Man Who Lives a Few Roads Down
I know his face, I know his frown, the man who lives a few roads down. His walk didn’t change, though he grew older; his bent back and hunched shoulders.
Sun-Reflector
Artist, noun: A soul that doesn’t believe it’s made of stardust, and so it searches for a home in every crease of a fingerprint, smudged between strokes of brush buildings and canvas walls.
Resting Heartbeat
Mountains are where I’ll lay my head, and in the ocean’s trench I’ll rest my feet till the stars above show me the path I’ve led.
This Is Magic
I was born with the sun on my skin and the wind in my hair. Everywhere I looked, I felt the beauty of creation and the hurt we bring to it. Autumn’s tradition perplexed me as I strove to find why the trees cast off their abundant green gowns into showers of red and gold in return for winter’s careless mantle of snow on their bony frames.
Pruning
Father! Father! What are you doing sawing the branches of our apple tree? Won’t the tree hurt with all those cuts? Won’t it look ugly?
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