The End of the Earth   I follow the multi-colored arch Spanning from one horizon to the other. To the east, a church spire stands Silhouetted against the end of the earth. The cross atop the spire directs my path. I draw near to find…

People say smiles don’t have scents Nor styles Nor choice of textile And Yet And YET The smell The perfume Is what I recall first of the moment of that day of that man Breathing in beauty A riot of joy, of colour, of beauty…

Write a poem about something ending. It could be a relationship, a stage in life, or the apocalypse. The details are up to you.   And so this is how it ends The discomfort, the fake smiles, the awkward conversation Or lack of The words…

From the naked eye, I see the World as flat. Even when I hike to the edge of a cliff, there is another platform of rock below- a safety net- a line I do not cross!   But, from this flat line where I stand…

Who’s to Blame?   Things did not go as planned. Do we blame the personal assistant Who arranged the business dinner at 1804 C Street? Or the Uber driver Who assumed it was C Street NW not NE? Or the executive who didn’t specify If…

The earth belongs to no one But we are apart of it all We share its wind in our breath It’s rivers in our tears It’s canyons in our wrinkles It’s sun in our smiles We hold time in our hearts With every thump and…

I get down on one knee asking you for your life it’s not something I’ll take I just want to be a part of it there is a hole in my heart that needs filling come on this journey with me it will be thrilling…

Two Shall Be One   He was a half-step ahead of her— Swatting down spider’s webs And lifting branches so she could walk without obstructions.   When the path got steep, He reached down and pulled her up Or stood below so she wouldn’t slide….

Looking Into the Void    The edge is a tempting place For me to go to scream, Looking into the Void I can scream about all the things That I should somehow avoid.   The edge calls me forth, The need to speak unto the…

Time is a shadow   Time is a shadow. It has no beginning and no end, but it is brief. I can smell its beginning in the fragrance of lilacs. I hear it aging as the grass is mown. I feel time’s exhaustion in camp…