The Stream Laughs

A stream 

flowing with words

of laughter

overtakes the loud 

dominance of the city. 

Not caring

of its ego 

or what the city 

find valuable

knowing only 

the ebb and flow

of its own song

strengthened by drums

that fall from a torn sky

filling what once 

was a bowl 

and now is cutting stone

slowly filling the remains

of a broken and scattered memory 

feeling only its freedom

for what stands in the way of a 

roaring world that kills

with the very thing so 

many desperately need 

but do not understand

that IT is what the city 

should hold dear

not some small talk 

or symbols of green. 

But the river laughs, 

and the heavens cry

from a shattered scar, 

and the city is shown

true power

and true wealth. 


My Apollo

I never expect your arrival.

There is no chariot of gold

or sounds of trumpets,

no rush of flames or horses.

You sear right into my path

burning holes where you spread,

treading through this life of mine.

I cry because you glow

drawing lightning with your eyes,

your bow, and yet you reek

and are drenched with pain.

Astounded, I wait for you,

your shimmering form of flickering fire

seduction oozing from your pores

air bending at your heat.

I won’t give in, not again

the maiden I am, was, should be.

You stole what was mine, yet

how was I to know not to play with fire?

A god you must feel strong,

but I know where your heart roars

encased in that steel ice

for all to see, but never touch.

The Call

I can feel the planet 

slowly calling my name

like vines that grow

from the ground

green tendrils of light

that slowly plant

themselves into my soul

a gnawing sensation 

that is always there

calling my name 

from a close afar

with loud whispers 

and chiming bells 

still deciding how to

answer such an honor

and how to help 

a dying mother of all 

when all I have is two 

hands and vines that 

encase me more everyday

unable to escape my call 

Bared Teeth

Bared teeth

and frantic rays 

of light peeking 

shyly over the horizon 

whispers of something 

new coming this way 

small in numbers

but strong in of itself 

worrisome and exciting

puzzling and true

wondering if it will 

suck you dry of life

to feed itself 

A Path of Mourning

A Wall of Desire

followed by a 

Path of Mourning. 

You didn’t honestly 


did you? 


Of course not. 


perhaps this is why 

your dreams crumbled

like ash 

before turning eyes

and the first person 

who told you 

you weren’t good enough, 

even though you spent 

countless nights, 

awake, barely breathing, 

memorizing the ins and outs

of your passion only 

to have a bulldozer of words

bury the hope you held so high

leaving you stranded, 

on a Path of Mourning. 

A Whimsical Note

A whimsical note of grace

harpooned with years of misery 

soft and generous

tones of ancient squalor

and mysterious meetings

in strange dark alleys 

of battles lost

and love forgotten 

people who built the world 

but whose names 

are long gone

masters of sound and prose

in a long whining drone

filled with care 




the melodies of life