windy day on windy roads

The air took on a golden hue

The leaves began to fall

And when they fell they were a view

Magical all in all. 

In midair they froze aloft

On random yellow breeze 

And when held there as if in frost 

They gave my breath such ease. 

feel

I feel as though I've swallowed the moon

While lying on its surface

Observing the vast earth

Floating out toward her

Tumbling through her atmosphere

Into her vast autumnal landscape 

Peopled with 

Spring toads

Summer deer

Wintertime white rabbits 

And me

fall heart, empty hands

Let me show you how I feel autumn. 

Let me guide your fingers

To the particular shade of burnt orange

That runs in my veins 

And turns my heart to cinnamon. 

Let me show you how I feel autumn. 

Let me demonstrate the deep, deep

Breath that takes in all the 

Falling leaves and pumpkin spice

And apple nutmeg baking. 

Let me show you how I feel autumn. 

Let me flirt with the wind and 

Watch as he winks in full color and his

Dried leafy fingers wind up my spine. 

Our favorite, spectacular dance. 

Let me show you how I feel autumn. 

Let me run and jump and ponder 

And cuddle and breathlessly,

Wordlessly, full of life,

Let my golden eyes show you how I see autumn. 

opposing traffic

Headlights with 

Machete-like blades

Radiating out from their centers

Blazing bright

Dashing to obliteration 

The thick dark air

But they cut only so far

Only so far

untrained eye

I would draw the sky

The fluffiest pink blanket 

With the clouds

Hanging on threads. 

I would draw the rain

But just the smell of it

Touching everything

Dancing a reel with greenery. 

I would draw the feel of the softest grass

The gentlest breeze

The mind of the ocean itself 

The soul of the oldest tree.

But perhaps I should take

An art lesson first. 

second friday

Electric notes

Wafting into twilight 

Blue like the sky but deeper

A slow breath 

Exhalation musicale

Wound round the powerlines

Caught in ascension 

Decorate the evening

rescue mission

My God has come to save me from myself;

And as he picks through the pieces of

My thoughts that I have scattered abroad,

His love fills my vacant head. 

Pink hearts swim behind the cavities where

My eyes once were, 

Enabling my blinded senses. 

The joy of the Lord is my strength. 

distant light

The rain has eclipsed the stars and in so doing, it has set my sun. 

I am wandering in an everlasting Alaskan winter, waiting the return of his shining face. 

eggs and toast with a side of anxiety

Even when the morning skies are elephant grey instead of purest blue, and the rain seems to pour through my rooftop, soaking the bedclothes and gifting my sleep with soggy dreams....

Even then will I trust; even then will I obey. 

excuses

I am bad at writing short stories because
People are so much bigger than
One liners and
Shrugging shoulders and
The feelings in a day.

I am bad at writing short stories because
I feel the need to explain myself
All the time and
Apologizing is the second
language of my fear.


I am bad at writing short stories because
Every feeling worth feeling
Is so much bigger than
500 words even with
The longest adjectives.

I am bad at writing short stories because
Big cannot be little,
Stories are never short
People are halfway to infinite
And I have such a tiny pen.

houseplant

Push up through the soil

And turn slowly

Open your hands and 

Carefully offer

The color and the delicate bloom

As the sun shines on our faces

Freely reach toward

The light that you love

my own worst nightmare

I am a reminder 

Of the pain I've caused myself. 

Every breath a threat;

Perhaps I will do it again. 

When I move my arms 

I remember the slaps they have given. 

The shuffle of my feet 

Cannot move me past where they've stumbled. 

My life is a testament 

To my tactlessly selfish existence, 

I think only of me again 

When I wonder how to fix everything my clumsiness broke. 

squatters

Don't let the worries spot your beautiful mind
Like squatters, living filthily in the home you've built for yourself.
They may keep the wheels turning,
Paying rent by keeping you alert.
But my love, at what cost!
They are tearing apart your windowsills and leaving stains on your white carpet.
The grimy walls need hosing down and the kitchen appliances are being stolen. 

Awake, landlord!
Your body is a temple, your mind a most Holy place.
Force out the deceitful tenants and fill your mind
With a hopeful little peace, with a crooked smile and freckled cheeks.

Fill your heart with calm;
I'll do my best to help.
Come, Lord Jesus, come.

wonderment

Slow motion 

Snowflakes

Your eyes

The snowy

Silence

Your hair 

The dark

Of night

Perfect peace

i can't write poetry when i'm so scared (by fall out boy)

I have a chunk of anxiety in my stomach,

rotting. 

I have tried time and time again to perform 

careful surgery, why won't

it leave? 

I have decided that I cannot get rid of it all

by myself. 

Lord, breathe life into me. 

little star

If you cut me open right now, I am almost certain that you'd find a tiny star where my heart used to be. Loving you has consumed it like a fire. 

campfire songs

You are fuel to the campfire under my full kettle heart, boiling away the stagnation in me.