Running from wounded shadows into someone’s arms for safety doesn’t work when no one knows how to hold you. Strong arms are really soft lead that weares away with pressure and makes a mark. You want to write your law on my heart, but Spirit has already done that with the Law of Love. I’m … Continue reading Beacon Heart
The Audacity of a man is a fire in the forest. It can keep you warm, light the night, burn down habitats. I was a little bird, cold in a tree, who forgot to fly south for Winter. Shiver and shake I did, remnants of ice on my tiny wings. I saw a light in … Continue reading Little Bird
i. I had a tiny hope once, and it grew as big as the moon's twin. I let it move my blood like the tide and cast shadows in the night. I called those shadows to me and I fell in love with half-light, telling myself it was enough to replace the sun. And … Continue reading Elegy For a Dream
You were red-violet fire in your heart sending embers through the ethers to call me towards you. I was blue-green ocean in my soul in love with the sun for warming my surfaces until you took its place. Can the sea be a fool to let herself be consumed? Does she even have a choice? … Continue reading The Spark
Sometimes I see forever before knowing if I can make it. Sometimes life falls apart like clumps of dirt held tightly in my hands. Will I be scattered on the wind this time, like the spokes of a wishflower? The force of air and spit from a mouth thrusting me into the unknown? Or will … Continue reading Molting
Welcome to The Flipside, to The Upside Down. Here, everything is as it should be. Here, we live inside dark clouds. There is no sun in here, no days full of light. Here the shadows are more than echoes of a past we try to fight. Here there is no floor firm under your feet. … Continue reading The Upside Down
This was written in response to a journal prompt by Pixie Lighthorse from her book, "Prayers of Honoring Grief." The question was: How can I honor what I've been through?
Author's note: I wrote this Double Haiku as an epilogue to my poem Weekdays. It was almost in the long form free verse, but I liked it much better short and sweet, (No pun intended. Well, maybe a little!).
Just like that, the change. Crimson to cobalt. When he snaps under pressure from duties pulling the band of his life, it stings. Leaves a dark mark. When he disconnects from fleshy ones around him because it is time to plug into the device, he's a slave, milked, for a patch of pasture. And he … Continue reading Weekdays
He is silent in his thoughts even when I ask a question; Tall in red and denim, pensive and peering through glass and structure. I get lost outside of that box of vision; When the colors reveal themselves to him and mix with his chaos; When the lights of his life keep flashing their lumens … Continue reading The Moth