Haiku, Tanka

A forsaken leaf Wading underneath the stream Meandering still The ghost of the rain Speaks to the cloud, from the mud Missing her dearly Cloud and dust and mud travel down the riverbed settle down to sleep From the Author I. Love. Haiku. I. Love. Tanka. There’s something about 5-7-5 and 5-7-5-7-7 that just… feelsContinue reading “Haiku, Tanka”

Song of the Nomad

The nomad walked,Wings hailing to and from the north.He found a flower,A rose of unusual color birthing from the sand A sight fit for a king-No,an Adon.He knelt down and whispered into her ear“I too, am alone” The nomad then set up his tent-A circular abode.He sat always in arm’s reach of the rose.Longing alwaysContinue reading “Song of the Nomad”

My Hobby is Travel

You been waiting for a light breeze to take you somewhereA sail with no wind,The indoors don’t become you You grew weary and faintBut the treadmill took you to a moot destinationAnd now you’re left panting on the floor you long to be a sojournerMay your steps be light and your soul lighteryou’d chase theContinue reading “My Hobby is Travel”

Every Waking Moment

We all waitWhile the sun lists under the horizonTo the pain of not being wholeWe drink many remediesLaced with alcohol We procrastinateInstead of walking and talkingAnd sitting with ourselvesWe bleed in tributeTo the mirror in our pocket We don’t prayBut we hurl our opinions into the void And with a thousand little cutsWe sever ourselvesFromContinue reading “Every Waking Moment”

How I Write Poetry (sometimes)

So, there’s a dimension lodged between a fold in my brain matter. It is a wild, untamed land that can at one moment be a boundless void, and at another, a dense jungle. Like something between Jumanji and Narnia, it has as many manifestations and descriptors as the art that is birthed from that internalContinue reading “How I Write Poetry (sometimes)”

It is Fragile

It is fragile.The paper barrier between flesh and air.The wind cuts through it like razorsAnd the beasts of the field stomp it down to mere dust They are fragile.The veins who transport life.The wine is spilledInto marrowIf the wine goes bad,then the the heart does tooFor it cannot tell blood from poison It is fragileTheContinue reading “It is Fragile”

If the Soul is an Anthill

I am made of staticA group of Infinitesimally small points on a three-dimensional gridAs I watched ants blanket the edge of the sidewalkI came to this conclusion Their rank and file were knotted up in a juncture between cement cracksI could not find room for a soul within that massNor the mass of my ownContinue reading “If the Soul is an Anthill”