There comes a time in life
when you start letting go for peace.
Relationships. Wealth. Power. Style. Food.
And in the quiet, you find yourself.

the moon has died in a poem
overused and forlorn
its avatar is rising
in blazig pixels and scorn

we are at this threshold
one foot in the moon
the subtelty of dying will be
presented on Zoom

Godot isn't coming but
I am waiting too

i don't know how old i was, 8 or 10.

I climbed out the window
onto the roof of the garage.

it was summer.

I lied down
and gazed at the stars for hours.

i reached to touch moonbeams,
and with my finger
drew a circle around the north star.

i dissolved into the hush of stars
free of want or need.

a single heart beat.
I, the wind, moon, stars.

I long to lie on the roof, again,
gaze at the stars
and filled with wonder.

I often reflect on the character of specific individuals. The character I'm referring to, in a dictionary sense, is not the same as the characters in my book. Writing reveals a person's character like nothing else.

The characters in my poems are never about me; they reflect my willingness to come to terms with them. For the past two years, I have taken on a new character: Who am I? What was I thinking? Who told me I could take on such a huge responsibility?

I have found that friendship is better for business than business is for friendship. I have proven this quote to be true. I always appreciate when someone gives me something, and I cherish that gift until the end.

Years ago, when I was a teenager and times were tough, my cousin and I would borrow things from each other, like clothing. I remember my favorite blouse that I lent to her. I spent almost all my wages to buy that top, yet she took forever to return it to me. One day, I finally mustered the courage to ask her for it back. She promised to return it within a week.

A week passed, then another, and another. I decided to go to her house to retrieve my favorite yellow top. As I walked into her backyard, I saw my yellow silk blouse in the sink, lying in a pile of ***** laundry. My heart stopped for a moment—there it was, green and moldy, crying out to me: "Rescue me!" I couldn't believe my eyes.

She never respected my belongings or those of others. It has been over thirty years, and I still have the pink robe my boss gave me after the birth of my first daughter. I cherish it and appreciate the thoughtfulness behind that wonderful gift. When someone gives us something, we must consider how much they care to choose a token of their love for us.

I often reflect on the character of some people and how they tend to use others. When you can’t come through for them, they sulk and feed on others' sympathy. My advice is this: don’t help people who won’t help themselves. Just walk away and take it from this character.

Be quiet so you won’t be heard anymore. You might have heard this phrase growing up. Why do people think it’s their job to silence others and stop them from speaking freely?

Every spoken word should be heard, like a loud ringtone from a cell phone that signals someone is calling. Everyone deserves to be heard.

My grandparents and parents believed they should silence me as a poet when I was a child. At one point, I found it hard to speak up. People kept asking why I was so shy. Why was I afraid to talk to adults? My shyness turned into social anxiety. With my friends, though, I spoke confidently. Adults intimidated me because they used commanding language: “Be quiet so you won’t be heard anymore.”

As an adult, I struggle to follow orders or deal with condescension. Maybe that’s why I love writing so much. When I write, only I can hear my voice. It wasn’t until I shared my work that I let others see my thoughts. I had stayed silent for too long and held back my feelings for too long. I decided to confront those who silenced me with my own spoken words.

"Language is powerful; it is the greatest science. It captures the fullness, color, and diversity of the world and of people. It is more valuable than wealth, buildings, ships, religions, paintings, or music." — Walt Whitman.

put the song on and dance,
let your hair down
throw your arms up
and dance. Feel the vibrations,
sensations revurberating,
through the trance
of life's circumstances.
Romance pulsates in the dance.

"what's the longest you stayed up?" jack asks.

"oooh, 5 days, a week. who knows?"

they take the shots, touch glasses,
throw down the bourbon.

"I wonder if animals have dreams?" jack says,
I wonder if dogs dream?"

"sure they do, dogs, cats, squirrels, birds," bob is nodding
his head up and down." it's all biochemical.

"not insects."

"why not? fleas, June bugs, moths. it's all biochemical, mix in electrical impulses, you got love and dreams. jack,

tell your dreams to me."

I held the lightning As I watched the new sun walk across the sky.
The ball of endless flame lit up the new day in this endless night.
All that black was truly white.
Colors now exist.

I held the sun As I watched the lightning fill the sky.
The storms sang an opera of thunder as the rain sang in endless melody. The storm song sang rivers into the land.

I held the emerald light in my open hands and let the rain song sing it into the earth.  Soon the winds of the new day will caress the leaves of the first forest.  

In this new twilight a reset has begun. And in endless time we were back to the beginning in one leap of belief. The songs are being heard for the first time yet again.

i don’t know
why i allow
you to step
into my life.

i’ve fought
so long
for peace—

you walk right in
like you’ve got
the right.

you got me
feeling stuck
in place.
i waived the flag,
called a truce—

but instead of
stillness,
you chose
the chase.

what do you want,
anyway?

i spent so long
trying to figure it out—

but it’s still
the same lines
on a different day.

i don’t know
why i let you
circle back
again,

when all you do
is skirt the truth
and keep me
in your game.

I think you still look at me,
like you did when I was a kid —
Forever seeing me
as my younger, wilder (freer) self,

When you look at me, still,
All my childish ways were for nothing,
But, I see them as my "red pill"
transforming me into something —

I think you also still see me
lying in that coma.
Your dreams dashed for the ideal daughter's glee
You wished to live out your long-lost desires...

So you dressed me, did my hair
made me up like a daisy doll
lying there without sound to share,
I couldn't protest, I wore that knoll.

But, now —
Here I am,
With a voice less shallow
Yelling:  "I am not that kid anymore!"

So, how do you like that pill —
to swallow?

There you are little wren,
Drawing my attention in,
To your looping, lonely, little psalm —

Some men
get knocked down far too easily.
They're as solid
as a sandcastle when the air is breezy.

Are we now a world
where our values do not matter?
They beg for coin,*
but deliver poisonous words that shatter --

I am not a "man hater"
I am desperate to find,
Men who can stand the test of time,
And know and whence speak their mind --

But all I see are puppets --
tied to the TikTok
Of public opinion that changes every season,
dancing to the worthless tune run amok --