May

the season softens with drips of dew, harbinger of splendor. Magnolia petals billow in a pink and purple breeze as spring yields to the slow crawl of summer’s approach.   I wrote this draft as part of National Poetry Writing Month. I hope to collect these works for a mixed media/writing piece I am working…

April

April moves as a mountain of clouds, rain broken by sun and unbroken again. April offers a pretentious hope of life renewed, drowns your hope and births it again. I wrote this draft as part of National Poetry Writing Month. I hope to collect these works for a mixed media/writing piece I am working on…

January

the lack of snow changes the landscape to somber browns the lack of you changes everything else. How long will I be taken with sudden tears at certain images, words, or tones in song?

February

any sense of winter celebration has long faded, yet we are in the heart of the heart of winter. This long lingering feels like cultural failure. I beg for twinkling lights on snow as the days crawl toward longer light. —— a lonely soul sees no celebration in pink and red hearts, only another rejection….

March

If depression were a month, it would be March. The sky is a grayscale Van Gogh, turbulent, bled of color. The light hurts the eyes. The ceaselessness wounds the soul. 31 days drag over shrapnel of dreams of other months. I wrote this draft as part of National Poetry Writing Month. I hope to collect…

saturday

the garden needs tending. And the soul needs rest. Saturday is torn from other pages. I wrote this draft as part of National Poetry Writing Month. I hope to collect these works for a mixed media/writing piece I am working on entitled Love Letters to My Brother in Prison. 

friday

jubilant friday lingers on the lips and tongues, bitter and sweet drinks offering fun, freedom, forgetting. Friday music hovers over minds clouded with rushed desires, cramming life into too short hours. Frenetic Friday drives us mad with yearning. I wrote this draft as part of National Poetry Writing Month. I hope to collect these works…

thursday

Thursday is false. Thursday drowns in unrealized desires. Thursday the glass is neither half empty, nor half full. The glass simply is. Thursday rots into humus, nourishing nothing. Nothing is left. I wrote this draft as part of National Poetry Writing Month. I hope to collect these works for a mixed media/writing piece I am…

wednesday

this fulcrum of servitude balances precariously , as a week can dip in either direction.  Wednesday thunder songs are the loudest: flashes of brilliance and rain that promise growth. Wednesday romance is the strongest: not built on frivolity or neediness. Wednesday love is enduring, straddled evenly on both sides. Wednesday is the point we say:…

tuesday

Concentrate: try to think of a way to make Tuesday special. There is none. ———– Thinking of songs mentioning Tuesday. The Moody Blues and The Blue Nile sum up Tuesday: moody and blue. Tuesday is a timed impasse that cannot be walked around, only endured. ———– Yet tuesday hovers like mist obscuring hills. You cannot…