Category: Poetry

Here is where my deepest heart lies. These writings emanate from the many times when my passion hits the bottom and other times where it seems to fly on wings. To solace myself, I go to the woods on deep forest trails, pray to waterfalls, look over valleys, and dip my hands in the waters of springs, hoping to soothe myself. Forgive me if I get angry; for at times I’m just plain mad at the world.

Opus

I mimic the forest, where ferns gentle as flowers, leaves like feral pastels, shape the wind’s hymn, creating a counterpoint of chaos and calm.   There, the birds have memorized melodies older than the shape of my skeleton. Even young trees, the adolescent tones,…

Climate

Sometimes I wish this rain wasn’t as cold as it is. I hear its voice when hitting my roof, a choir, confused, but a steady, controlled, stream of notes. My skin fragile, one cold drop could sink into my bones, giving me a chill,…

Cascade Soul

My Spirit is a path built in the Cascades. Tectonic plates. It adheres to a dream where I’ve floated above the trail, without pain, not worrying about the forest. The seasons stilled and the river is silent. In this sleep, my imagined body feels…

The Artist

Upon mountain trails, the hiker might see signs of an old sheep herder, the craftsperson, who had built a hut of fallen trees in a meadow. It now stands abandoned upon bare fields of wild green. Spring blooms still hold their heads, shyly, with…

To Wander

This south wind Brings a warmth Tickling the side Of rhododendrons Waiting for the fluster Of petals who fall The quickest, earliest Sticking to shoes Tracked into the kitchen   “I meant to tell [you] How I longed For just this single time”  …

Perennial

Long-stemmed daffodils, whose faces are flushed by a cold spring storm, act as if their lover, the sun, has left too early and is done. Flowers like drunken ladies, brazen young daisies, mouths full of desperate drink, mistake their first kiss for a one-night…

Soul

It rolls and rumbles out of you Like you don’t understand the fuss But you do, ‘cause you feel the buzz For it holds your curves and your nerves Connects you to the low frequency Keeping you off the high wire And that damned…

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