Poem 12: Waterlight Butterfly

Silver blue sky, spread with rosy clouds, overlooks the city in the canyon. Deep between the rising red spires of rock, the azure river flows calmly past after a million years of wearing down the stone. The sun descends behind the horizon, leaving the sky stained a pale violet. As dusk descends, golden halos of light illuminate the crags between the reddened towers. A breeze passes, whistling a song in its journey between the cliffs, and urges the butterflies from their nests.

Golden wings flutter-
A flurry of butterflies
Released by the wind.

Poem 11: Dance

The bartender pours the liquor into the cup, and the cloaked man sitting at the counter downs the shot. Across the room lit by dangling citrine lanterns, by the crackling fireplace, a musician starts to play a violin. Raw, rusty sound fills the stuffy but gradually weaves into a fast-paced tune. The regulars at the creaky tables begin to stand up. In a corner, a copper-haired girl sits on a barrel, arms folded, leaning against the grimy wall with a surly scowl. The young man stands up, unfurls his cloak with a smirk, takes her hand and pulls her off her seat. He grabs her by the waist and whirls into the center of the room. Their boots tap the chestnut floorboards, and they dance amidst claps and cheers. She spins around and clasps his hand. Her caramel eyes soften and slowly, her scowl disappears.

Poem 10: The Reaper Visits a Celebrating Town

Gray clouds precede the midnight black
once arrived, coats the sky in ink-
magenta sparks explode in the air,
followed by gold, crimson, emerald, and sapphire-
on the roof, a man lights another firework.
The rocket blooms in the sky,
casting a kaleidoscope of multicolored smoke on
slate stone buildings border the streets-
connected awning to awning by tawny ropes
hanging lanterns cast citrine glows below-
where crowds shuffle between chestnut walls
and mahogany planks of run-down buildings.
Nearby, in a darkened alleyway,
the silver sword escapes its sheath.
White strips of bandage unravel around the blade
revealing rows of runes glowing azure blue
in the air slowly darkening with dusk.
A hooded stranger folded in ragged cloaks of black
spins and plunges the sword-
in the dimness, a body falls-
staining the cobblestones with scarlet.

Poem 9: Impulsive

I saw a giant huntsman spider
perched in the middle of the wall
just underneath my dusty windowsill.
And without thinking, I quickly gathered up
a physics textbook in my arms
and flung the entire brick of a book
across the room at the windowsill.
Unfortunately, as a teenager
I was scrolling through Instagram on my phone
so I watched my five hundred dollar iPhone 7
tag along with my textbook for the ride
and fly in a perfect arc at the windowsill.
My textbook obliterated the spider in one strike
leaving a blob of waxy yellowed guts
and all parts left of the spider corpse
but my phone went flying outside
in the same continuous arc
and I realize that I forgot to close the window
much earlier this morning
which was how the spider probably got inside
and down beneath the windowsill.

Poem 8: The Angel Flies to Heaven – after “The Composer Sheds Her Sheet Music” by Z.G. Tomazewski

She sheds her tears and rises, wings fully developed-

stepping away from the shriveled, cracked, and dry cocoon

to the edge of the canyon rim, beneath which the river rages-

she leaps, and flies-


Her wings buckle in midair, her body bends over,

but something in her heart leaps-

her body lifts-


Grey clouds loom above through which the sun shines dimly,

releasing a silver mist that blends with the wind-

snowy white pigeons lift from the rocks- the wind

carries their wings in flight-


Light soaks the reddened canyon walls-

the breeze whirls from each pump of the wings-

crisp air- the angel’s plumage of white feathers-


The clouds parted the sky-

the tangled froth of the river vanished,

the canyon beneath descends away-

with each wingbeat the heart thrums-


Her hands stretch to catch the skies releasing water-

a rain arrives to signal the coming of Autumn

washing away the dust

from the birds’ shallow beaks-


Clouds envelop us-

the wind sings and whistles its music,

carrying with its breeze the leaves-

and as she flies, she lets go-

Poem 7: Inside thoughts

Say what you want,
and speak your mind,
be it the most hateful desire
or vengeful act of crime.

Even a selfish wish,
as you yourself may find
may be worth pursuing
for the sake of this short time.

Poem 6: My mess of a desk

Behold, my mess of a desk, covered with
a powder blue vinyl pencil case,
a glass of water on a mosaic coaster,
bags of original sea salt flavored potato chips,
and a half-liter bottle of Snapple mango tea.

But wait, there is more-
sleek silver pens with crystal blue grips,
a tiny stuffed panda head looped phone charm,
two silver rings engraved with hearts,
green plastic scissors on a frayed spiral notebook,
a white ceramic cup filled with neon highlighters,
black woven landyards, rubber bands, and hair ties,
and a plastic box of nickels and pennies.

Also I almost forgot-
point five-millimeter lead graphite pencils,
two pigma micron archival ink pens,
biology, chemistry, and psychology textbooks,
a box of chocolate covered macadamia nuts,
a half-completed sketchbook of penciled anatomy studies,
a digital watch ticking rapidly from ninety seconds,
an opened laptop with ten tabs open,
and a word document listing a poem.

Poem 5: Place

Look, there, beyond the rolling hills,
round knuckles of emerald,
past the gentle slopes of grass.
Ignore the dark dirt beneath our feet,
or the chestnut dust mingling with mud.
Do not cry with the rain.
Look past the box buildings coated with grime
with their flat roofs and wooden plank walls
and dusty, cracked glass windows.
Stand on the broken swing dangling from the aged tree
with its thick, tired branch bowing down,
grab the frayed rope and stand on the cracked leather seat
and look up, out, and far.
Look beyond the cumulus clouds
to where the blue peeks out
over the slate mountains and their crystal snow caps
where the glaciers begin edging down
to sapphire lakes in plains of gold
that melt to deserts of crimson and dunes of sand.

Poem 4: Confession

She told him that she loved him
one heated sunny afternoon
in the middle of the summer months
when the sunflowers were in full bloom.

Autumn arrived with falling leaves
coating the sidewalk with sunset red
and she told him she loved him
beneath aged trees that bowed their heads.

Frost visited in the morning
when she told him that she loved him
as the days grew short and the nights grew long
and flakes of white drifted from the heavens.

Snow melted away from soil
to let tulips open with their petals curling in
giving a fresh breath of new spring air
with which she told him that she loved him.

Poem 3: Firefly

Dusk fills the darkening azure sky as the sun descends behind the horizon. The girl ceases her skipping through the field. Grass comes up to her waist as she leaps. Sitting upon a log, the boy watches as she raises her enclosed fist. He tilts his head and rests his chin on his elbow. The cool breeze rustles her copper hair, but her gaze is pointed down and not at him. And then, from within her palm, deep golden light emerges. Little dots trail out from between her fingers and float towards him. He lifts one index finger to lightly tap one of the luminescent citrine spots. The tiny insect flutters away from him on delicate, filmy wings, leaving behind a zig-zag trail of gold.