stained pages


a colored posy
tucked inside her smile glow
swirling strokes of orange

absent of blue


still life.


Origins. The ripening of soul.
Control the juiciness
found in the core
of being your self.


on the campus of Indiana University, Bloomington IN

Just yesterday
you told me
keep your head up
all things pass
but your not here
to keep the blood
from draining
and the grudge you hold
i have to let go
this pain unending

-memories never fade.

Point of convergence


I felt a true poet
the day I looked into space
and never wrote a word.



Timid, a dream.

She promised never to speak
of their innocence
his eyes spoke for both.

Down on their knees,
babies above and behind
neither dared to comfort.


no words
just good thoughts
vibes to enter
and exit, as breath
prepares a feast
for eyes, a vision
frozen in time.



twisted tales and myth
wooden beams of olden trees
shield us from the past


Outdoor Bouquet, July 2016

moments of gratitude
spread across her face
silent fractions of love
spent in embrace
what costs our time
returned in grace

What Roah did

Ford Madox Brown, 1871
What Roah did
rowing down the Nile
carry his people to freedom
slave and master at odds.
Two by two the couples left
families of their own
houses built and generations
blessed by sweat and tear.

What Road did
his arrogance too much to bare
families watched their heritage
under a scrupulous divide.
Armageddon vanishes
the measure of a mind
prophecy come true
before the skeptic’s eye.

Urban Dictionary: Roah, the state of zen reached when one is fucked up. A measure of how fucked up someone is.

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