My own orange tree
In my own garden
Of blueberries, broccoli,
And everything I love without pardon

I will grow my tree
And we will grow in unison
To heaven from a seedling
Amongst the setting sun

Oh glorious orbs of sunlight
In which I will gladly drown
From soil unto great heights
I joyfully match my evening gown

My own lovely sun tree
With branches stretched to swirl
Oh how I wish to be like thee
To golden rays from a shadowed girl

Upon your body
were the littlest
of imperfections
that caused you
to miss the
beauty
and the art
they had created

Scars
Discoloration
Lack of pigment

Combined
they have made
perfection itself

You told me you wanted to be an artist but you do not know how to paint. What you did not know was that you are already an artist, and the first art you have ever painted was the smile across my lips.

Every time,
a child picks up a pebble.
Nature ready for the catch..

Don't do it for the acclaim
Don't do it for cheers
Just do it to try to stop the ringing in your ears

Don't anticipate awards
Or search for some big prize
Just try to make the world make a bit more sense in your eyes

You won't get the fortune
You'll never have the fame
The most that you could hope for is to feel a bit more sane

You can use your laptop
Or grab a pen and pad
When the last line's been laid out, the world won't seem so bad

The sun comes up too early
dissolving the night from behind
suspending last night's sleepless
in a passing timeless bind

Two worlds outside the window
The new day and the past
Toss the covers and brew the coffee?
or plead with the stars to hold fast.

The dawn shines soft at first watch
casting the world a pale blue
By midday it glares down on burdens
pointing cruelly at an endless queue

But noonday passed behind curtains
holds bothers in dark sympathy
lets correspondence die in assumption
ignores bills to delinquency

Either way the moon hangs devoted
bides his time in faded plain sight
to whisper the patience of nightfall
hold the world in it's pitiful light.

5 | 31 Poems for August 2017

I’ve become well-acquainted with these streets – from University Road all the way down to Park Street.
My heart skips a beat when my words touch hearts like Alex Panttiere and that’s why these hands keep writing.
You left without saying goodbye, you could’ve at least told me why.
You easily detached yourself like there were no feelings between us.
Like I didn’t love you hard enough, soft enough or even warm enough.
For weeks on end, I began hating you for leaving me the way you did.
Yet here I am writing all these words and somehow still missing you.
I’m slowly finding my way back to myself again no matter how severe the pain.
I’ll pick myself up and finally find the strength and courage to love again.
Maybe in your quiet time at exactly the right time, I can be your true valentine.
Sometimes jacarandas fall with no intention of lighting up the streets with their purple blooms again.

I've fallen in rivers colder than you.
Under all the sorrow, there is a monster.
Much worse than me.
The ghost of you.

A shadow of the light you once were.

Life's swell;
when you're drowning
at the bottom of a wishing well.

In the company of your most guarded thoughts.
Burried emotional, traumas.

A crown, I'd rather not claim as my own.
I'm just passing time until it's time to go home.