Saturday, October 01, 2016

Thirteen Facets of Evening Rainfall

Image source: PD-US,

Thirteen Facets of Evening Rainfall

The rain falls now
as a halfhearted afterthought
to the fading storm;
an indifferent setting
for life’s unenthusiastic

Evening sky is a
billowing, boiling, starless
severe tightly-wound fist
leaking rain remnants
through its cracks.

Moonlit-smeared charcoal features
lazily streaked by reluctant rainfall;
moonbeam slivers as
counter-tempo to the tempest’s
stark finale.

“Shhh!” whispers the rain in drizzles,
dampening boisterous laughter
of various groups
hustling to and from
various evening merriment.

Light refracted through languid raindrops
made neon theatre and lively pub signage
seem to pop and sizzle
with urgency and eclectic electricity.

The rain falls
it does not care
where it lands.

Pooling into tiny lakes
in the parking lot,
the rain is a mirror,
flipping the world upside-down,
revealing all illusions.

Rain strikes pavement
in hushed shockwaves;
it kisses skin
in rushed vibrations.
It flirts
among lovers.

They do not care
where they land;
compels raindrops
to cover lovers
tidal-locked in embrace
as if they were
but a single entity.

Rain saturates their hair,
slips between the cracks
of their pressed lips,
drops down their faces,
masking any trace of tears.

the rain
in drizzles,
the joyous sounds
of strangers,
leaving only
the sound of rain
their embrace.

The rain does not care.
Its silent roar will
fall upon them as
a single entity;
it will fall between them
after their inevitable
release and parting,
always masking the tears.

The rain is a looking glass,
revealing with frightening clarity
the fragility of who we really are.
** *

Written for dVerse Poets - Meeting the bar as a cubist poet. Björn is hosting and submitted a really good challenge. I don’t know if I did the challenge justice or not, but it got me out of my funk long enough to try something new! Head on over to the dVerse link if you want to learn more about cubism, which is not quite abstract, but similar, I guess? Bah! I suck at explaining poetry!

Also go here to read other dVerse poets’ cubism poems.

*Update 10/2/2016, 4:10am: I screwed up the link above due to sleep deprivation. I just corrected it.*

Monday, August 29, 2016

She Leaves Before Autumn in Silence

Image source:

She Leaves Before Autumn in Silence

When she leaves
the sun follows
the moonlight tides hollow
the twilight slides,
riding narrow straights
lined in yellow-golds, 
crimsons; the valley bleeds
listen as pinwheeling leaves
spiraling wingspread
reddened and bled where
trails dovetailed and led
to her wistfully drizzling
** *

Written for dVerse Quadrille #15, where Justin Jackson is hosting and asks participants to write a 44-word poem that includes the word “leaves”. This is a bit of a rush job. I might come back and tweak it a bit. 

Go here to read other dVerse entries.  

Thursday, August 18, 2016

Meeting the Bar – Form: Tanka (Four Dislocated Tanka)

Meeting the Bar – Form: Tanka (Four Dislocated Tanka)

Image source: unknown
greyscale goodbyes

I held you that night
knowing we’d never return
to our rain-soaked youth
droplets merge with my own tears
dissolving into grey streaks
Image source: By Frederic Leighton - Art Renewal Center – description, Public Domain,
communing with an ocean gem

mermaid at moon tide
pierces my blues with her song
cosmic distance felt
whispered secrets to the moon
so that my verse reaches her
Image source: Pinterest
photosynthetic embrace  

you are the method
of converting light to love
and love to motion
sweeping through mundane actions
content to move worlds for you

Image source:
internet courtesan

at the speed of light
we exchange want, desire
air between, ablaze
fireflies traversing space
fingertips can never touch
** *

Written for dVerse Poets Meeting the Bar – Form: Tanka. The lovely Toni Spencer is hosting. I’ve always been intrigued by Japanese poetic forms ever since I read Japanese Death Poems. Toni is a wealth of knowledge regarding these forms, and I’m glad she is showcasing the tanka today. I love the tanka form so much that I tried four separate ones. I may come back later this weekend and add a few more.

Go here to read other dVerse Poets tanka poems.  

Monday, August 15, 2016

Morning Rousing, Still Drunk on Your Nectar

Image source: fine art america 

Morning Rousing, Still Drunk on Your Nectar

Sunbeam filters find
you poured upon me,
settling into my skin,
oozing, connecting our gaps,
warm, sticky-sweet like a
drunkenly tipped-over
mason jar of honey
spilling its gold upon my
coconut oil-glazed shell.

You smile, sleepily
blending into me, smelling
like nectar; mine.
** *

Posting for dVerse Poets Quadrille #14, “44 words that has to include the word of today which is jar.” Go here to read other dVerse poets’ entries.  

Thursday, August 11, 2016


Image source - nightmare - by Steven Stahlberg 


Silent night lack of light reducing sight
twilight is screaming lightly
as I’m frightened by mind’s flight
slighted flights of fancy
shake my glance, igniting fire
delighted to fight my blighted brain
with refrains as they conspire
to fire every neuron,
aligning with neurotic
perspire and transpire the pain, microscopic
paralyzing muscles with terror,
internal terrain with refrain of fear,
never see morning
mourning the loss of sanity at overclockin vanity
Sense of self morphing to what’s left of my humanity

Heart palpitatin’
wilin’ and creatin’
bizarrio scenarios
freezin’ my soul while I’m waitin’
hand down, man down,
plans sound like I’m escapin’
ran down, land ground,
sand found, footprints relatin’
To the elevatin’ levels of stress
turnin’ me to gelatin
stressin’ my blessin’
from the marrow to my melanin
hell will begin to frost well and
send me to the end of my bend
I pretend to mend
the fabric of my fear,
begin again

Hallucinating my unconscious fall
into my juggling
communicating my exhausted call,
free me from struggling
rebuttal manifested
in rapid eye-movement and blood flow
unsubtle double-breasted
acidic breath proving a flood’s woe
overly oxygenated molecules rushing,
fueling nightmares
woefully amalgamated in whirlpools flushing,
ruling trite shares
of microscopic momentous
monumental paralysis
narrow myopic fear senseless
won’t go gentle into analysis.

Monday, August 08, 2016

A Note for Jori

A Note for Jori

I don’t know what possessed her to write me that love letter, but there it was, perfect penmanship, hearts and everything. She was the eventual 8th grade valedictorian; smart, popular, outgoing, preposterously beautiful. And she had written a love letter to me; a newb, an outsider, a quiet bookworm, the smallest boy in our class, complete with cokebottle-thick taped-together public-aid eyeglasses.

It just didn’t make any goddamned sense.

Apparently, I had caught her eye by twice being on the ass-end of one-sided fistfights against guys twice my side. Each fight was prematurely ended by a teacher intercepting my attempts to escalate the battles. The first deflected my well-aimed chair tossing. The second stopped me before I could decapitate my foe with my lunch tray. In her note, she mentioned the fire in my eyes; the defiant glare despite the bruises and bloodied lip. She said that I was beaten, but never defeated. Or defeated, but never beaten. I don’t remember exactly, but it was an adequately deep thought for a mind as brilliant as hers.

I wrestled with how to respond. Regardless of how it was framed, I just couldn’t wrap my brain around her interest in me. It had to be a cruel prank of some kind. Wouldn’t have been the first time a girl feigned interest in me only to laugh at my sincerely sappy response. I cherished the note as well as my radioactive crush on her, but I took no action. Even when she talked to me as often as she could. Even that one time when she grabbed my booty in the hallway and winked at me when no one was looking. OK, prank or not, that was pretty cool having the most popular girl in school grab my ass. I guess you can say that I peaked too soon romantically.

Finally, I summoned up the courage to write Jori back. (Yes, her name was Jori! Isn’t that the most beautiful name you’ve ever heard? Nearly 30 years later and I’m still swooning.) I poured my heart and soul into that four-page letter, letting her know how much her words, her gentleness and her kindness meant to an undeserving schmuck like me; letting her know all the things I wanted to do to make her feel as wonderful as she made me feel. That was a kitchen-sink letter. I totally brought metaphorical metaphysical gravity to the situation.

I just didn’t know how to deliver such a heavy letter. I was inevitably undone by my social awkwardness, and the letter was intercepted by other bullies, who took great joy in reading it aloud to the entire student body, as others held me back from my frantic, vain efforts to recover it and my dignity. I could only watch as Jori’s face reddened from the humiliation. I knew then that she was sincere. I also knew that she probably couldn’t risk her popularity by speaking to me again. I wish I could tell you some sort of moral victory to be gleaned from this tragicomedy, but I’ve got nothing for ya. All this situation did was confirm my fears that I was born to lose and that I was destined to be alone for the rest of my life. This fear shaped many unfortunate adult decisions for me.

Crimson autumn leaves
Spinning, falling around us
The barren branches

Written for dVerse Haibun Monday: A Little Romance prompt.  

Saturday, June 25, 2016

shinotsukuame – intense rain

Image source:

shinotsukuame – intense rain

Damn this rain. It comes down in unrelenting torrents, taking my breath away as it strikes the roof above me. It forces conflicting ideologies to huddle under the same awning to wait to take action. Critical decisions are delayed by compressed, intense, unending condensation; lives hang in purgatory due to science run amuck, mocking my inevitable inertia miles away from home, miles away from her, miles that might as well be decades of waiting on this blasted storm to relent. She will patiently keep my place by her fire. I know this. But I also know that nothing lasts forever except for this biblical barrier blocking my way to her, mocking my best-laid plans to warmth and comfort. When I open the door to view the torrential shinotsukuame and curse her to her face, the sun gently kisses my face, and giggling children are bounding to and fro, boisterously playing outside. Both are tactile and sonic interruptions to my internal downpouring monologue. I could go to her now, but it’s always raining somewhere.

It’s always raining
Especially the moments
I can’t feel her warmth.

** *
Written for dVerse Poets Haibun Monday: 50 Shades of Rain. This is Toni Spencer’s wonderful prompt about rain. Since I equate intense rain with my ongoing battle with depression, combining the two was a no-brainer. It practically wrote itself.

Go here to read other dVerse poets’ entries to this prompt.