Tag: poetry



This is a ping poem
To see who’s home,
Who subscribes still
To a fill of poetry
Unearthed on a screen
Where the shovel is rusted,
Needs to be dusted
With more earth…
Time for rebirth.

Rain Moments of Today

Yesterday my kids wanted to go outside in the rain.  It was a treat for Gianna to wear her rain coat and boots.  I decided to capture the moments and then write the following poem.  The poem came out sadder than the moments of the day, but accurate still.  At some point my kids will grow up, and I’ll be telling the parents of young kids to cherish those moments before they go away.

Rain Moments of Today

I watch my kids discover puddles,
So I run with the camera to capture the joy
Of my boy, girl, boy, screeching in delight
At the sight, sound and feel that mud might reveal
As it shoots from concrete pools and tools its way inside
To where their feet reside.

Laughter wins as one discovers mud on his hands,
Joyously he understands that he’s getting away with something
Which is why I’m snapping pictures today
Before he gets away.

Poetry Unhexed

Poetry Unhexed
My ears ring hollow
Keeping me up at night with the need to write,
To compose,
To slate out words no one knows why
… at first.

But poems form and the screen fills with text
Poetry unhexed
Is given birth on the eve of morning.



Hear the audio of this poem here.

Does poetry makes sense?

Does poetry make sense? well… does taste count?

Often when reading words strung together, I’m left without the literal comprehension.  But I’m left feeling a little taste of something that makes it palatable.  Not that the whole poem wasn’t palatable, but just that there are morsels that get stuck between teeth.

Later when I’ve long forgotten about the poem.  That piece of poetry that I’ve had my tongue flicking against becomes loose, and a taste of poetry spits out when I talk.

There’s a chance that it will land on you.  Most people will brush it off.  Only a few will pick it off their shirt and put it in their own mouths.

Early Morning Coffee

Early Morning Coffee

The morning comes earlier than coffee
Which doesn’t usually stop me
So much as it throws me for a loop
As I try to count each scoop
And figure out the “brew now” button.

The coffee comes earlier than the mourning
On those days when it’s adorning
My work shirts.

Some mornings, I’m simply confused
When I look at you mean
With the lack of abused

Sweaty legs

Sweaty legs

My legs are too hot to write tonight
Not that they’re the ones who’d write to sight
What you’re reading, but they’re gaining stick from sweat
Building underneath this laptop I set
Down on my lap to write
About sweaty legs tonight.

Pink Skin

Pink Skin

Pink skin,
Warm to the touch,
Asks me if I’d like to wear sun screen.
“No.” I say, freckling in between
open spaces filled with such
pink skin.