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.

Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Hunger Pains

Image source: By Caroline Léna Becker - Self-photographed, CC BY 3.0,

Hunger Pains

It falls to dust
I can hear her gabbing
I can feel her grabbing
At the things that I trust

Unknown face I reflect
Genuflect, lose respect
In the power of lust

Freely spreading her legs
Freely shedding my dread
Penetrating my crust

I can feel it too much
But it’s not enough

I see where I should be inside of joy
But I destroy
And she reduces me to aching boy
Her willing toy

I want it all
She knows I want it all
I want it all
She knows, that’s why she calls

I wanted more
She was seeing what’s up
I was filling my cup
With whatever she poured

I was drinking fine wine
Feelin fine while online
We were down on all fours

We filled-up on new blends
I filled-up on her friend
Knocking at her back door

I can feel it too much
But it’s not enough to feel

I see where I should be inside of joy
When she plays coy
But she reduces me to lover’s ploy
And I enjoy

I want it all
She knows I want it all
I want it all
She knows, that’s why I fall

I want to feel all the things
And I’ll self-destruct with bad luck
As I gamble with safety that clarity brings

I know the folly of sin
But I feel my pulse, less repulsing
Than repressing myself before I begin.
** *

Written for and shared to dVerse Poets Poetics: Even Monkeys Fall from Trees. The prompt is to think of a mistake that we made and something positive that we gleaned from said mistake. Lessons learned and whatnot.

I went with the series of mistakes I made as I came of age in high school, thanks mostly to my poor self-esteem (my poor self-esteem is a recurring wellspring of inspiration). My high school girlfriend dumped me, but then begged me to take her back after the dude she was sweet on dumped her. Not only did I take her back, but I rushed into marriage with her right after high school. I knew she didn’t respect me, but it was better than being alone for the rest of my life, which was a very real possibility to young, naïve me.

Soon after joining the Navy and travelling abroad, I discovered how very wrong I was about being alone for the rest of my life. I discovered that there were some women who were actually attracted to me. I had the power to choose instead of settling. Once my possibilities popped wide open, I got a bit greedy (read: lost my freaking mind) and things went off the rails for a bit. But, yeah, that was decades ago…

The poem represents the speaker’s eyes opening to new possibilities. Or something. Christ, probably TMI, but fuck it.

Go here to read other dVerse Poets’ contributions.