A poem about bottling up the sunshine to save for a rainy day.

Have you ever thought about How we are dead stars — Living, recycled Fragments of stellar explosions? Or about hemoglobin? That iron core of our blood Carries our breath With each heartbeat, Sustaining our journey Through mitotic decay And meiotic rebirth. …

It’s far too beautiful today To be mired in yesterday’s Optical hurricane. Least of all, The man imploring God and gazing skyward, Buffeted by tempestuous trepidation. The raindrops belong in the clouds, And tears don’t belong in his eyes. Tears don’t trickle like rain— They Fall Like freshly broken hearts. …

Today’s a most auspicious day To honor such a man who cares Beyond what any words can say — Although I’ll see how well mine fare. He is my role model and more, Though he may downplay this effect. He gave me wings to help me soar, And loves…

A poem about the commonalities between people and water.

Pathological over-thinking can be a boon to those who write prose and poetry.

I had a recent, lengthy talk About the meaning of eternity, And how so many of us balk Amid the fixtures of modernity. He really seemed to have the Answer To my slew of quips and asks, Yet they were blooming like a cancer, Despite us having other tasks. He spoke on the origination of The sins of all…

If you want to know To what heights you can go, On the street, here’s the word — You have to write about birds. All of the greats do, And you really should, too! From Robert Frost’s little snow-kicking crow, To Galway Kinnell’s Canada Warbler woes, And the ever-famous Raven…

Listless, calling sheepish I remember a languid digit on A figure cowled, dark and lonesome, Soaking up the moonlight, Beckoning me through my window, With a crooked little hunch. Did I surmise from the disguise That it was you, or you were me? …