Spring 2017 Poetry Sampler

Below you will find another set of poetry, mostly free verse. These were penned between March and June.



haiku iii  (couplet)

rise thou soaring chords

i breathe in love to sing light 

and color’s touch 

sing, wind shine and wide.

i feel bright silence in flight

of mutual gaze 

andrei in the field 

(another short poem in my series of war and peace verses)

to face again one’s insignificance 

in the only field where he failed everyone but himself

in a world where everyone fails him, including himself 

social anxiety- poem of an autobiographical nature vi

i am sorry that

                  i am sorry.

can’t peel this aluminum foil off my heart, my eyes. 

sometimes i want to escape the sunrise in a black deep dive 

hear the silence;

not break another neck. 

i weigh my presence on the scales of toleration,

measure the hypotenuse of the light in their eyes,

wear artificial confidence around my throat, 

whiten my smile with hope and fear. 

initiate, someone, 

for otherwise my anxiety will always initiate as i drag my heels behind 

its giggling grip on the back of my neck on a wild goose chase 

for validation it then destroys me with and poisons my sleep. 

initiate and tell me 

“i want to be here.”

for i live in constant terror that anxiety’s mask over my eyes 

will be the only me you ever know. 

braces

they are

removing my braces tomorrow.

no more teeth corset.

how many unspoken words will they find caught in those wires?

disembark 

seven forty four.

handfuls of sleepy tulsans blink past glass and the landed plane

at the gathering gray swamp of storms huddling on the horizon,

and all is silence and country music spread thin

over linoleum.

seven forty five.

a door opens

and tumbles out five dozen chattering californians.

culture clashes in the doorframe as over and into 

the midwestern quiet they flood.

the tulsans side eye hurried noise.

intruders.

wake not the midwest until it so desires.

aprilesque 

spring sugars even the earthen corners in pinkened whispered laughter

and lilts across mountainous oceans of newly wakened trees.

it is aprilesque. 

gray diamond rain slicks the skies

and the wind breathes down my throat.

let's unfold our minds in the darkness to a concerto of birdsong 

under two carat stars and pearl strings of falling wishes

in the raw of new grass. i’ll plant blossoms on your heart. 

it is aprilesque

and i living.

miles

veins on my maps and roads on my wrists 

i can see my smile in his eyes 

wind in my lungs and breath in the air 

do you want to run away into tomorrow, today? 

i’ll scatter dandelion fluff and wander the miles 

allotted to me with your name in my heart 

tourist 

i am a tourist in this life,

just here for the food and experience,

but i know i don’t belong here.

somebody tell me when the train for the next arrives.

for eternity, i do believe?

i think i’ve seen enough of this rain-gray place. 

and then silence fell

and then silence fell

floating floating down on lamplit rain 

the cloudy sky blending with your eyes 

(that i couldn’t look at), 

your jacket

(that i looked at instead).

i still smell that night.

newcomerstown 

picture frame of small-town lights, travel-worn asphalt,

and a blush-stained sky, 

leaning on the rock of your shoulder i

 cast my net and gather a jar of memories and fireflies.

we breathe in moonlit nostalgia and smile. 

no wish wasted on a falling rock; 

love is to dance and polish this planet in the rough 

with starlight, 

{this ball of bones and coffined memories at quiet peace}

and sew constellations out of the dreams

we whispered 

and blew over dandelions. 

here in newcomerstown, somewhere, ohio, 

in sunsoftened grass, the moon third-wheeling, 

close your atlantic eyes. 

listen to my hurricane heart. 

take my smile in your hands and 

close the door on the waltzing world.