No Longer Light

No Longer Light

Grief is the wind

a fifteen year old heart

as light as thought

when passersby mistook

flesh for summer peach


before the rosy pinch

she took into a wedding

no one could explain;

grief is in the valley

grief rides the waves

grief is the wind

though her heart—

no longer so light.


Familial Debate


Why is it I should wait?

Wait too long and it will be too late–

there is a world in front of me,

perhaps you’re just too old still to see

there’s nothing I can do as but a boy,

I’m nothing more than the world’s toy

it takes a man to travel

and in unfettered heights to revel;

why do you hate me so?

Why do you treat me as a babe so low?

I want to learn, I want to help

I want to be more than a fleeting yelp.


What would you call a yelp?

Why are you so eager to join the kelp?

Swim, swim away from time;

oh, what I wouldn’t give to know again the easy rhyme

you name stagnation

in your howl for the abdication

of the innocence of love and play,

oh child, no, if only you could hear me pray–

I pray for you and for your soul,

a soul from me the world so stole–

perhaps it’s curse you never could

know there’s no return to bartered childhood.

The Iron Mask

A Beijing opera mask

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Absent light

We stood before the mirror

To laugh away the night—

To watch the ebon shearer

Carve away all trace of color,

No escape within the muddled dance

Like finest wine tread through the muller

Far and away from time’s own chance.


Some men would brawl

To preserve that childhood lie,

Yet all must face the wall—

The iron mask—or die.

Passing Through

Not even laughter marked the passing

where the final hop was made,

where I found time

waiting with a smokeless cigarette,

and shadows played burlesque tragedy

upon bones once called foundation.

There were memories in the scraps of smiles.

Cracked and bloody in the marsh,

a framed lie will sink into the sight unseen.

One life at a time

these homes just

stepping stones between—

thank God there’s soul to find cause

you can’t go home again.

They called us children once

They called us children once.

Before eyes were windows

dappled in our fogged night,

dawn proud; unknowing

shadowed play between locked fingers.

They called us children once.

There came silence to the cries

when our skin learned its shape,

the mewling crescendo of fingertips

drumming our answer in the twilit backseat.


They called us children once.

Until we danced.

Warning: Winter Ahead. Image by Chris Galford.

* I realize in recent days I’ve not been the most prolific of bloggers. No Inside Idasia. No crafty banter. A brief smattering of poems, a Christmas photo, and little else. Well, I just wanted to let you know that will be changing with the new year. I’ve been out of town and out of state, and between family, friends, and a distinct interest in a little break, I’ve been having myself a pretty good vanishing act. Tomorrow I return to Colorado, however, and Monday things should resume their usual pace.

But with that, I wish you all a happy New Year! The old was crazy enough here – between finally publishing, between the move out of state, between all the kind support and friendly community you all have provided…I think the new will be hard-pressed to top it, honestly, but I wouldn’t mind a good surprise. I hope it has been the same for all of you, and thank you simply for taking the time to swing by my humble little corner of the blogosphere. It has meant the world!


Photo Credits: MSU Commencement. Year Unknown.

Graduation is here at last. If you needed an explanation to why the Den’s been a little quiet this week – look no further than that. In a wash of green robes and final papers, my week has been a flurry of continuous movement, continuous demands, and this single Saturday stands as the peak at the end of the long crescendo. After this, I still have a few finals (really, whose idea is it to have final papers AFTER your graduation?) but they are merely the final stepping stones bridging the gap between this life and the next – the entrance to reality.

All next semester will be spent hunting down a job, sending out swarms of short stories, poems, and (hopefully) my novel to contests, publishers, agents, and what have you on the march to creative advancement, and preparing my law school applications. Just have to remember to keep telling myself to breathe in the meantime.

I’d like to take the time to thank you all for all the support and kind words all of you have shown here on my blog over the past year. I never would have thought I’d find such a warm reception to this little creative outlet of mine…and it’s been a kindness, truly. I’ll be back soon enough with more. In the meantime, though…excuse me as I step off into reality. Be back in a bit.

Father’s Song

I watch them ride

memories of my failures–

wonder if I tried

or all were vaunted blunders.

Too long I’ve been afield,

at war with thought, the world–

from this madness I have tried to shield

and so into the madness, they’ve unfurled.

Decaying in Orbit

We are drifting

You and I

I can see it in your eye

This sifting

Chasm lengthens

And the shadowed fens

Are growing.

That smile you once held for me

My smile

Is now a vacant stare

We look to one another

But there’s nothing there

Just silence

In the space

That once beheld our laughter.

Older, wiser


The child slithers from us

And so do we

These shadows lengthen

As we pull apart.

Still we look

Captive to memory

Unable to let go

But unable to remain

We are gripped and we are broken

And I am decaying in orbit

Around the very stars

That made my