To the Budding Flower

(Prefer to hear it read aloud? Click here!)

Just a little taste of spring:


Hands jerking over rosebuds

Wheeling inside a weightless wind

The slender self would flood


Numbers, sunlit fall

Without winding, nor binding no

Not this kiss, for that’s all it is

A kiss and a thunder so


The flower smiles today

Before the morrow’s sunless yoke:

The higher they be howling

The sooner sets the stroke


And age, it cries out for the coy

For youth knows yet the blood,

and time the wisdom of the sleepless

knows the quiet of life caught in the bud.


Our Corner

A man hangs his hat in that corner

where once we slept together

an ignorant or discontent foreigner

to our dislocated nether.

No one knows what happened

to the images our jury pardoned.


It was not always rainy when you came.

There were moments, tucked into our night

we found shelter in our tender shame

knowing neither would ever fight

for all the stories Donne read within

that little corner of our skin.


No one forgets—

not even the man, uncapped, in grey

strolling through space time bid offset

frustrated and sweating through the summer decay

praying for the breath that weaves

through the door, but out the window leaves.

Phoenix Flight

Flames of her passing

stream the silence between

breathless twines of human grace,

the air, her plane–the smooth fall

among the flesh,

a look to pin the longing touch,

thirst for the flight they cannot share.

Merely human, cries the hush

of lights along her occupation–

no remedy for the pale drip

her candle set upon the choir.

Night lies in the dismount.

Close at Hand

Where you touched me–silk,
the milk of our desire,
yoked yearning from the ilk:
heart–they called it fire–
the infinity of which might host
ashen fractions of the passion, sired
by a touch, a look unseen by most
unbound by sea or land–
the knowing when I sleep
you breathe beside this silent hand,
and I am no stranger, too far, too deep.

A Haiku Afternoon

Tomorrow, a more fantastical post. Today, a short dose of the poetic:

Rose petals drift

perilous bedside seas–

her breathless touch.

Night gown nonsense–

heat beckons through wood and wind

wild by moonlight.

Note: Don’t forget to check out my guest blog appearance on Jessica Kristie’s “Inspiring Ink” segment today! I may be talking fantastic tomorrow, but today, I’m delving into the imagination…


Regurgitated lives lie between us

gray puddles reflecting

open air—

watered sounds,

reticent ripples rearing

wanderlust eyes, consumed in flesh.

* Busy week indeed – my first attempt at poetry since the book hit e-reader publication last week. Since then, of course, things have only gotten more hectic. Launched a Facebook page for proper social media marketing, the book’s now hit print, and we’re waiting on reviewers from across the board. Between all that, the mind’s been quite boggled, and it’s been a challenge to find time just to sit down and write, let alone to give the mind over to the purely poetic. Thankfully, camping this weekend helped retrieve a bit of my sanity, and garnered more than a few pages of new writing.

Darker piece this week, and shorter, to be sure, but I hope you enjoy all the same. As ever – critiques and comments welcome!


* A work in progress – critique welcome!

Broad strokes, bedside

broached the topic of

wedded blasphemy,

through bygone whispers

renovated in bravado,

battered with the blue breeze

bloody braggarts call carnal bastardization.

An immigration of conscience

instituted something like incontinence.

Winged Aphrodite pulled hormones

through the shaft of her soul,

but ringed Bast barred in gold;

lovers circled bane and bust,

but the band bonded true—

like a shadow, lust, pulled

through the needle of love’s eye.