These are some of my favorite poems that I’ve written, and a few that I haven’t.

Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

W. B. Yeats, 18651939
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,   
Enwrought with golden and silver light,   
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths   
Of night and light and the half light,   
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;   
I have spread my dreams under your feet;   
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Way Of The World – Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Laugh, and the world laughs with you,
Weep, and you weep alone ;
For the brave old earth must borrow its mirth,
It has troubles enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer,
Sigh ! it is lost on the air ;
The echoes rebound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you,
Grieve, and they turn and go ;
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they dont want your woe.
Be glad and your friends are many,
Be sad and you lose them all ;
There are none to decline your nectard wine,
But alone you must drink lifes gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded ;
Fast, and the world goes by ;
Succeed and give and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die,
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train ;
But one by one we must all file on
Thro the narrow aisles of pain.


Do not go gentle into that good night

Dylan Thomas, 19141953

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.



Butterflies flutter by
Landing on the ground
They help me to remember
All the beauty that’s around
They flap their wings all day
But rarely make a sound
So humble and so pretty
So beautifully demure
Butterflies are proof
Some things are wholly pure
No stingers and no teeth
No venom that needs cure


I proffer them my finger
And they dance upon my hand
So light and delicate
Nothing in them’s bland
In my mind’s eye they reflect
All that’s beautiful and grand
For me this flying flower
Is proof that good exists
Their natural innocence says
On this Earth can be real bliss
And if purity is found here
Then love is worth the risks



Though I often held a blade
I never drew red lines on my arms
No, I never cut my wrists
Instead I cut my soul
I weighed it and found it to heavy
So I decided to cut off the fatty parts
*slice* there goes sadness
But with it happiness falls too
I tried to avoid the dark depths of my soul
But all I ended up cutting were my pinions
No longer could I fly to the highest heights
So I fell down into the black trenches of my mind
White feathers spiraling around me
Blackening in the sooty air


I never swallowed pills
But I swallowed my feelings
Each lingered on the back of my tongue
My spirit would gag at the bitter taste
But with a deep, painful gulp
I swallowed each lump in my throat
Well, almost each of them
There was always one I could not force down
It always bubbled back into my mouth
The sweetest bile I’ve ever tasted
I tried to eat every last bite
But it seemed there was always another piece on the plate
And then it felt like poison
Now I know it was life
If I had ever cleaned my plate of hope
Who knows where I’d be now

Once I hung a cord around my neck
But I never jerked it tight
I found it better to hang on God’s grace
Better to swim in his love instead of my blood
More healthy to eat his communion
Than devour my spirit

I’m done cleaving my soul into pieces
Now I’ll cut the chains of injustice
I’m done swallowing my words
Now I’ll speak for others
For those still choking on their tongues
Now my hopes are hung on God
And I know he’ll never let me down

For he never has



Ankles in the clear creek
Sitting very still
Hands beneath the water
I hope they’ll soon be filled
With tiny shiny minnows
That I can hold up close
Study their slippery bodies
Those moments I love the most
bee orchid r valley frosted our garden 1st week in june 2010 036_edited-1
Observing other creatures
In their daily life
Seeing fishy joys
And aquatic strife
To see them in their homes
You must remain quite quiet
If they can’t hear your splashing
The fish fry will run riot
They’ll peek out from their rock homes
They’ll dance and play and swim
Shimmer in the clear creek bed
Jump and fall upon a whim
They do not recognize me
They think that I’m a rock
Or a pink and fleshy tree
That’s grown up in their spot
In their carefree meanderings
They’ll swim over my hand
Then with a splash and in a flash
I’ll throw them onto land
I fooled the little creatures
And caught them in my trap
Like an ever patient
And curious little cat
I don’t catch them to destroy them
I always put them back
I simply want to understand
Their lives and habitats
Forever I will cherish
These moments that are gone
For it seems now I’m the minnow
In someone else’s palm
Ever swimming, always rushing
But not nearly so carefree
In the shadow of a statuette
That sits and watches me

The Eyes of God

We lay in the dark, looking up at the ageless wonders. Our backs resting on the ancient earth. Our warm presence is fleeting and soon we will join the soil beneath us. But in our fleshy bodies something eternal looks out. More ancient than the dirt and more ageless than the stars. The soul that was known before the body was formed. And each time it looks up at the endless universe, it yearns to be free.

Milky Way

Body Language

Isn’t it strange how the body remembers? The corners of the eyes revel in the echoes of laughter. The forehead creases in reflection of past contemplation. Freckles stare back with sightless eyes at the bygone sun that burned them into existence. Blue veins run like rivers down the body, flowing with time, the countless seconds rushing to be remembered. And scars remember the pain.

Some say the body is a temple, but I say it is a garden. And in every garden there are interlopers from foreign fields, be they wildflowers or weeds. What is escaping from your garden? What will you sow in your neighbor’s field? Will you plant a dark, brooding, flower with your fist? Or will you plant a blushing, red, flower with your lips? Humans can forgive, but sometimes the body will not forget. It will tells tales to whomever has eyes. With laughter, rising in the corners of a mouth, or with screams, sounding from the depths of sunken eyes.


Moth’s Wings

A white moth flutters by. So splendidly clean. It never washes, yet, whenever it wings in the sun it shines. My clothes are filthy no matter how much I scrub. Wild dogs need not bathe, but pets are scoured by their owners. Maybe filth is a human invention. Imposed on the Earth by our desires. What animal looks at the fallen tree, feeding the termites, and thinks “trash.” Animals eat and are eaten. Every last part, even the bones are consumed by the soil, feeding its ancient hunger. But humans produce strange things, that when eaten choke and strangle. They erect monuments to their arrogance and leave the earth, wind, and fire to bear the pain. And bear it they do, but each day you can hear them groan. Someday the Earth will have no more of our pride. Then, like white moth’s wings, we will flutter down into the dust.


Written In Blood

For years I wrote the word worthless over myself. In the air, my tongue lazily tracing the syllables, tasting in full the despair that they carried.

With my pen, hard, angry strokes, resentful of their creation, wishing they could warp into something else.

With my tears, hot salty drops staining the word on my face for only the darkness to read.

But I thank God every day, that I never wrote it, in blood.


Soft Spots

I love the soft moments in life

When the warm wind tousles my hair
The old breath of the earth ruffling the locks on the young head of this boy
When her gentle fingertips touch mine as our fingers meet and seek to interlock
When the bobber rests on the surface of the calm pond, just before the fish strikes
When a hush falls over the crowd as they all draw in an eager breath, still unsure if they will use it for a jeer or cheer
When the frog quietly contemplates my intrusion on his territory, unsure if he will hop into the creek or sit with me in shared seclusion
The moment before sleep overtakes me, and I lay in my bed listening to the crickets performing their magnum opuses
At the top of a hill on my mountain bike, preparing to take the plunge
When we hold each other in our arms, wishing we never had to let go

There are soft spots all over the world
Often we rush around to quickly to experience or enjoy them
I prefer to stay in the spot and let it last as long as it can
I let the Zeus play with my hair
My fingertips dance on hers longer than the song plays
The still bobber does not bother me, I let it relax
I’ll breathe in deep as I can, so my cry is loud and long
Share the river bank with the frog as long as he’ll let me
Listen to the cricket’s symphonies all the way through
Stare down the trail in sweet anticipation

And when I hold you, I wish I could hold on forever
One of the softest spots on this Earth, is my one for you

Comfortably Uncomfortable

What an unpleasantly pleasant surprise

Body warmed porcelain greeting my thighs

My legs expected to meet an ice cold seat

But some kindly stranger lent me their heat

Like the vicarious kiss when you share a glass

Now my butt has touched someone else’s ass


See this vase, tall and strong
With a few cracks and scratches
But made with such effort and love
Formed in the potter’s hands
Fired for months in the living kiln
Polished over the years
Proudly displayed on its stand
Now it has slipped and fallen
Down to the cold, hard, ground
Smashed into pieces
Wet with tears
Spilling through the potter’s desperate fingers

Say the Words

Three words often can soften our plight
“I love you” can pave the way
To a future oh so glorious and bright

Romantics mumble and jumble the words alright
Hopeless in their haste to say
Their love and set lover’s hearts alight

Fathers rest these words on sons at night
As life’s blinding sun slowly drains away
To put their soul at peace and ease their fright

“I love you” just might right a slight
Turn angry grudges into play
Unwind relationships turned too tight

For these three syllables knights will fight
With honor for them they will pay
And spur their mighty hands to smite

Poets these words do often write
With pen on paper oh so frayed
Yearning to relive life’s greatest heights

Now I whisper this sentence with heart contrite
As blooming flowers on your grave I lay
Hoping too little too late can make things right


Break Every Chain

The world is becoming a safer place
The wilderness is tamed
The raging beasts are caged

When I hear the wild tales of old
My heart yearns to burn and rage
They say all good things are wild and free

But so many chains lay on my heavy heart
I fear I’ll never be


Fading Flowers

I am very sorry my dear
I have forgotten why I came
I was oh so happy and chipper
When walking down the lane
Now that I am at your door
My ebullience has grown tame
It used to make me shiver
Simply when I heard your name
I’m afraid the wind has changed me
A human weather vane


Dripping Candles

Do you ever wonder
If you’re slowly going insane
A candle of stability
Slowly yielding to the flame
Can you find someone
Something else to blame
A mirror image sputtering
Reflection in another frame
Or perceive the madness
See wax dripping down your brain



I think simplicity is lovely
Occam’s razor cuts the cleanest shave
An elegant math solution is one that solves the problem in the easiest way
We can dress ourselves in the most beautiful clothes, but really our natural bodies are more beautiful than any threads we could hang on them
An enduring love is simple, it does not include if’s, and’s, or but’s. Just “I do”
But my life is so complicated
So many moving parts
A thousand plans all spiraling out of my head like a cognitive spider web
They’re all well and good with a pot of gold at the end
But I just end up getting tangled
Life is purest in its simplest form
Eat when hungry, sleep when tired, love well
But I’m up at 4 am writing a poem on my pocket computer, hungry because I ate dinner at 6 pm
I try to love, but I’ve got it all confused
Passing judgement for concern, replacing time with texts
My life is shiny and exciting, with all the bells and whistles
But so often I long for a return to something simple


When I die
Send me up to the sky
In the mixed race tradition
Of Vikings and Asians
A glorious funeral pyre
Made of paper lanterns
I’ll rise up into the atmosphere
Higher and higher
Slowly burning to cinders
My ashes scattering
Out into space
Spinning into orbit
Around my home
I’ll be a vortex of dreams
To you I entrust
This vision of death
Dust to stardust


Into The Abyss

Faith lives in the fearful darkness
Where we cannot see and cannot know
What flies above or crawls below
It lives in the places we cannot see
Where we must crawl alone on bended knee
It lives in the impassable abyss
Where God asks us to walk on mist
Faith’s home cannot be found on any map
It’s constantly moving just out of our grasp
Faith is uncomfortable and can be quite scary
It requires no experience, in fact the contrary
We say with want to live by faith
But we plan each second of every day
Faith my friends cannot be planned
It is putting our lives into God’s hand
So if you want to live in trust
Inexperience, doubt, and discomfort are musts
Faith lives in the fearful darkness
But that my friends, is where God’s heart lives


All the Small Things

It’s the little things that matter
Like the way she lies
Like splinters in your finger
Or an eyelash in your eyes

It’s the little things that matter
The popcorn kernel in your teeth
No matter how much you pry or prod
You cannot get relief

It’s the little things that matter
Like the rock stuck in your shoe
That scrapes along the pavement
Grinding away, annoying you

It’s the little things that matter
The way a cobweb blows
Like a ship’s white sail at sea
In the air it flows

It’s the little things that matter
Like the smell before the rain
Or the spaghetti sauce that on your shirt
Leaves a reddening stain

It’s the little things that matter
Like the scratch upon your back
That’s red and bumpy and so itchy
Another allergy attack

It’s the little things that matter
Like the way she won’t meet your gaze
She greets her shoes and shies away
She seems lost in a haze

It’s the little things that matter
Like the cicada’s chirping song
That greets you in the morning’s heat
Soon after the dawn

It’s the little things that matter
Like her pretty smile
That paints itself upon her face
Every once in a little while

It’s the little things that matter
Like the way her eyes grow wide
Whenever I look deep into them
They stare back inside

It’s the little things that matter
Like the hush inside a room
After a performance
Before applause’s raucous boom

It’s the little things that matter
Like her awkward laugh
Every time it sounds it writes
My sorrow’s epitaph

It’s the little things that matter
Like the way that he forgives
All the little sins that I commit
Each morning renewed I live

It’s the little things that matter
Like the way she hugs
Holding so tightly to my neck
Reminding me of her love

It’s the little things that matter
A thousand tiny lines
But when all’s said and done their total sum
Is the balance of our lives


Sometimes I walk

Just to get outside my mind

My legs cease the talk

That makes my cerebellum blind

See my brain has a lock

That opens as I wind

My way through grassy stalks

Free thinking’s what I’ll find


Life In Technicolor

I live life in technicolor
When I walk with my earbuds in
The bass helps replace all the empty space
In the air so very thin

Confetti rains down on the crowd at Bassnectar

The sounds convert to colors
Before my aching eyes
Painting the sky not black or white
But with a rainbow of pretty dyes

Pretty lasers at Pretty Lights

The noises cast a secret spell
On the people who walk by
They change from slaves to painted braves
Dancing through their lives


Music transforms my vision
It makes my world less plain
It lets me see what’s meant to be
Says I do not hope in vain

Flags flying in a rain of confetti

These raging sounds they help me
To set my dreams on fire
With them I’ll burn all that’s boring and stern
Yes, I’ll make the world my pyre

Rave Dragon

From those flaky ashes
A brave new world will rise
If I have my druthers, it will flow with colors
That would be a peacock’s prize

Losing Her Train of Tho…

I wonder why her eyes begin to wander
And I start to fear that I
Have nothing left to offer
I worry, thinking that from me she wants nothing else
That she thinks me such a bore
But her eyes drift and her mind lists
Because I’ve lost interest in myself

Life Stumbles On

Out of the dead stump
A new tree grows
Why life goes on
No man can know
It stumbles along
When we tread on its toes
But no matter how we try
We can’t stop it, life goes
On and on, again and again
Life it does seem is
Forever bound to win
Though death and destruction
Dirty life with their sin
They cannot prevail
Life will grow again
From blackest ashes
Saplings peek their green heads
After men fall in battle
Crows eat life from the dead
Even when I held
A knife in my bed
Life stilled my hand
From my wrists, never bled
So if you’re a realist
Take hope in this fact
Life is more powerful
Than disease, or an axe
Though things seem to end
Life remains intact
Each finish, a new start
Death births a new act


Smoke in the Wind

Keep your eyes on me
As steady as can be
For if you look away
There’s no telling if I’ll stay
I just want to be free
As the wind that tugs at me
When life gets dull and grey
Or turns into a fray
I’ll turn on my tip toes
And out the door I’ll slip
To where nobody knows
A secret, spontaneous trip
And maybe I’ll be back
But I can never tell
Like wisps from a smokestack
On the wind I might travel

Skinny Gluttony

Do you ever eat so much
That your stomach writhes in pain?
I must gorge myself on whatever I find
I do this every day
If I do not
Though my gut is in knots
I will simply waste away

Metal Memories

It’s funny how we get attached, to all the little things
To jewelry and to knick knacks, to necklaces and rings
Their intrinsic value, is normally not much
Some rocks and minerals bound together, and then polished up
We act like these shiny trinkets, are more than gold and gems
Like golden moments and gems of life, also hang on them
Like charm bracelets can really remember, all the wonderful times
And can whisper back the golden years, when you’re old and blind
Gold and silver are expensive, but costlier than these
Are all the valuable things in life, the precious memories


Starry Souled

If I could, I would pick down some of the stars from the night sky
I would place them in your beautiful hair
Though sparkling stars’d be beautiful, something more lovely for my attention vies
Your gleaming, glittering eyes, and the precious soul that lies behind


Drowning In Your Eyes

Oh my sweet and precious dear
If only I could be one of your tears
I would be greater than all of my peers
I would sit inside your pretty eyes
Looking out from the lovely orbs that make me sigh
I know that it’d be wonderful, even if you cried
Then at last I could gently caress your cheek
A face so very wonderful and meek
The high from just one touch would likely last a week
Though I’d rather sit inside the window to your soul
Look out at all the world from eyes so very full
Or swim in your ocular ocean, feel it’s pull
I could dive down deep into the depths of your desires
See what makes you yearn and what lights your lips on fire
With learning you I doubt I’d ever get tired
Even on the outside I always want to hear more
Questioning and posturing, of your mind I want a tour
There’s no way I can resist your sugary sweet allure
Like a fly on paper
I’m always trapped in your peepers
For I know that they’re keepers
So listen to me please
To your wide eyes give me keys
I’ll be happy and die at peace
If I drown in your eyes


But You Don’t Really Care For Music Do You?

I would sing every song I know for you
The weathered old folk songs of the Earth
Walking along in the pentatonic form
Snaking out of the warbling lips of the people of the earth
Golden and glorious heavenly chords
Taught to me by angels in the moments right before slumber
Plucked out on harps strings woven of pure plasma

I would tell you every tale I ever heard
Tales of adventure and daring do
Written in far away lands where mother nature lives untamed
Tales of sadness and despair
Carved out in tombstones on bleak and barren hilltops
Tales of romance and love
Carried out in poems and flowers, hands and lips

I would show my love for you in a million ways
Each one learned from the sparkling lovers that dot the night sky
Each one beaming down to me the stories of their ancient love affairs

And I would walk a thousand miles
If I could only move you an inch
You have cemented yourself in the ground of your surety
Nothing, not wild horses nor untamed love
Could pull you from the rock of your stubbornness

You tell me that I am only excited by silly things
Well, it seems that romance must be a trite novelty to you

I would play my magnum opus for you on my heartstrings
But you don’t really care for music do you?



Dark Heart

In the night I often wonder
How my heart became so dark
Was it born in night and thunder?
Did God in heaven have a lark?
Or did He simply make a blunder
I feel if I could open up my chest
I’d find an organ black inside my breast
Not quite from evil or from sin
But from blood beneath its skin
So often it’s ripped and torn asunder
It must be bruised and quite bloody
Occasionally I wish it would be number
But I like my heart, e’en if its ruddy
For I know just why my lifeblood bleeds
It’s cause I see so many needs
So many wandering lost and broken
No words for them are ever spoken
My aching soul bids me help those I know
Them who share darkness within
Maybe together we can find some healing
At last replace this darkness with another feeling


The Ant Always Goes Up With His Stick

Ants do walk and ants do dance
As if ants were in their underpants
Ants be nimble, ants be quick
Run along this burning stick
Ants are brave, they know no fright
Not even when their home’s alight
Ants will pop and ants will fry
With their branch these ants will die


Fire gobbles up the wood
Reducing it to cinders
Effervescent is the water now
Escaping from the timbers
Don’t heed the vapor’s angry hiss
Observe the liquid turn to mist
More free than it remembers

Warm Wind Blowing

The warm wind
Will blow away
All that’s left
No words
No feelings
No thoughts
No pride
No sorrow
No anger
No questions
No answers
Only dust
On that warm
Summer wind



I hope that as I imbue this page with my pain
I hope that as I push down each solid key
Tapping out a dance of emotion
That the ink will hold it for me
That this computer will remember my words
So I don’t have to
Maybe I can leave these thoughts in my head
For someone else to think
I hope that this time
I can walk away
Without a blink
Leave my sadness framed
Hanging on the wall
Not perched inside my mind
Just waiting to fall


Wandering Eyes for Lost Souls

What eyes watch the wasting wanderers?
Which ears drink in the incessant tunes of a broken record?
Whose hands hold a haggard heart, that misses beats right on time?
Blind lead the blind
Broken love the broken
Limping along on one shattered leg
We look for another with the opposite awkward gait
A handicap on the other side
Hoping we can combine our fractured selves
Into one whole human
Two puzzles with missing pieces
Meeting to make a new mosaic

The eyes that watch for struggling survivors
Look for a mirror image of themselves
The ears listen for that all too familiar song
Seeking its sickly sweet notes in a new key
The hands test the pulse
Counting for the beats they miss in their own wrists

We’re a world of hobbling humans
With eyes wandering for other lost souls


Maybe Next Week


Sorry man, I was a little busy this week
I had a few tests and something came up
I blew a tire and had to clean my room
Maybe we can hang out next week…

Sorry girl, my heart got a little full this week
I seem to have lost my intentions somewhere in my mind
My courage also appears to have fled deep inside my head
Maybe I can remember how to be a man next week…

Sorry son, work was very busy this week
That big project I’ve been working on was due
And the boss was breathing down my neck
How about a rain check for your childhood…?

Sorry father, I know you’ve been sick
But I have pockets full of excuses
And an uncrackable safe full of reasons
Maybe once you’re gone I’ll put flowers on your grave…

Sorry mother, I know I said I’d call
But my brain only remembers what’s in front of me
And I can’t see over these small things that have stacked into a tower
Maybe I can commit to call you next month…

Sorry poor, I know you have nothing
But that new iPhone was too shiny
And that new shirt too soft
The poor will always be with us, so maybe next person…

Sorry oppressed, I know they’re standing on your neck
But my hands are too soft
And my stomach too weak
Maybe I can free you next year…

Sorry God, I know I was to love
But there was so much to do and so little time
So much I needed for myself, I couldn’t spare a cent or a second
Maybe I’ll live for love in the next life…