The Gift

Start writing.

Carving stone with a feathered quill

Wading upon the depths of the breaths of the gods, who stammer out rules that no one can abide

I walk beside ponds that are shallow as they are round, and bask in the warmth of dying suns

Stars are born, littering the path

Steps are lighter and the path is brighter.


Waiting for time to slip silently


Lies cave in with tumult and sound

Crushing bystanders and those in the wake of it

Friends…hold tight standing firm.

Lovers…..never let go…

Everybody else …slips

As stones and catastrophes slide effortlessly down

Like butter in a hot skittle

And whisky down a parched throat.

Poetic Healings

I am a funnel of dreams

Spewing out like a smoking furnace

Encapsulating a fleeting response to catastrophes and carving them into stone for people to relive and be relieved

Catapulting the unconscious into the conscious

I will tear apart walls

and reveal the truth to all who ask

Seek and you will find

Healing happens within the walls of your mind

What I want

I want the the limitless sky

The angels to kiss my cheek

and help me fly

I want a boundless field to run and legs that never grow weary

I want an ocean as clear as the air around me

and Energy that never ceases

I want the world and all of it to love me

and never leave me.


Standing deep

In cold water

Watching it lapping

Over and over

Coming up and pulling back



Soothing burning

Can I stay here?

Don’t ask me to leave it

Let me sink slowly

Just like a feather

Softly falling

Below the surface

Vast and covering

Just like a blanket

Let me stay here

And hide beneath it

Choose Your Poison

Choose your poison

He leans in invitingly

He welcomes me into the circle

“Whiskey on the rocks”

“Fill it up”

My heart it races

It knows

It is close

A deep breath

I hold the bar firmly hoping it grounds me

Sweat beads across my brow

I wipe my hands down my pants

Wet prints left upon the bar

The ice is sharp as it hits the glass

“Get this guy to hurry up!”

The Voice screams again

I hold my eyes fixed to one place

Hoping no one can see the fear upon my face

I catch a glance in the mirror

A fancy outfit

And smelling of French Cologne

I see the pulse within my neck

Jump like an angry Looney Tune

Scraping as loud as glass on glass

He slides my drink into my palm


One one thousand

Two one thousand

Three one thousand

……Just a sip…

I wait while he serves another patron

While his back is turned

Half gone…. put it down before your cover is blown

Didn’t spill a drop

Soon I’ll be the walking dead

Awake enough to come alive and calm enough to keep the demons inside

Courage is easy to find

On every corner

At every turn