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i write poetry in my mind, and sometimes on paper.
latest
poem thirteen.
there are times
i feel
the energy of the world
pulsing
through the
back of my neck
poem twelve.
exhaustion
drips
down my face
pulling
my eyes
to my lips
i cover them
with my
fingertips
ashamed
poem eleven.
my place
is green
what once
was dust
and dormant
spills forth
in a hurry
hungry
for every last drop
too quickly nourished
poem ten.
it’s been
a week
the world is darker
i’m not ready
our concept of
we becomes
narrower
poem nine.
there’s a poetic
imperfection to the way
we work
in an early year
the call of a wild duck
scheduling the foxes
tempting the snakes
the power of the people
is so
much stronger
than the people
in power
poem eight.
and maybe you’re crazy
but i’m not
and maybe
this whole world is just slightly
askew
approximate
ample
but
either way
poem seven.
her plants have names
her toes spread
shoveling dirt
nestling
like birds
cradling
a cup of tea
she sips
singing
a comfortable tune
gathering seeds like
memories
poem six.
i can still taste
the air
feel the cool air
and his hands
as they dared
deftly dancing
to help me see
poem five.
before i was
i spun
around and around
choosing
between futures
but now i stand
afraid
of what might become
of me
poem four.
then shines the sun
on an endless sea
reflecting
your perfect madness
imperfection
seeps into
the roots
poem three.
i thumb
through the
thesaurus
in my thoughts
imperfect words
terrorize
terrify
poem two.
speak not
of the ways
i weep
let us gallop
lest the rains return
poem one.
a life
is the drop of water
suspended
as rain
becomes puddles
i believe that words can change the world
