I liked closets I could hide away where no one would see me safe inside a small space my mind could fly far away   Then I was fine with closets They kept me safe my secrets locked away inside only a few picking the…

    The last light of the day, Before my last words. I close the blinds from behind, And can’t even fathom how I get here. Amid losing all the balance, There’s hope. A glimpse of it. Pushing me towards the precipice To finish what…

I am the poet that leaves words in the garden A butterfly lands on my creation It sees “hugs make you live longer” It flys to places and whispers it to all The winds carry the words to the sea And creatures swim creating waves…

Is hope more of a wish or a prayer? Does it have to do with string? Is it a goal or objective or song? Or just some everyday thing? Does hope spring eternal as the poem says or perhaps the poems are just mush I’d…

Round. Not for appearance, but for the ease of making. Nature requires at least an oval for square is too much effort. In my youth, pepperoni was it. Mushrooms were gourmet. But now, there’s figs and prosciutto, pesto, and lamb with mint. Introduce gluten free,…

In the middle of the night I awoke and thought of you. Now, here’s the thing:   I’ve never been a dreamer. I’ve never fluttered to sleep With visions of far off lands   Or nearby waters. When you close Your eyes to static,  …

I once had a crush on a girl named Hope Brown hair in ponytail reaching her waist I had hoped to somehow get to know her Like a lot of my classmates I had Hope hope But with eighth graders you need to speak to…

I do not pray. I believe It is dangerous to call God’s attention to me. I’d rather Talk to you, speak As if you are alive Talk in whispers Throughout the night.   Last night I watched the moon As it clambered From one end…