What it means to chase a dream

The long breath of responsibility
upon the backs of the squalid
the young, the starving, the dreamers
can only last until their passion is fully forsaken
to follow the advice of others

The luck of the draw
rears its generous head
into the minds of few
the others scrambling
to connect the dots
to make ends meet
juggling responsibility and commitment
to follow a calling
they know to be true

The impractical and impossible of yesterday
are the realities of today
the failures of yesteryear
are the successes of tomorrow

Dreams are never fully owned or borrowed
but to be pursued through
on the paths of happiness and sorrows
dreams are the fuel of hopes and ambition
built to defy tradition
with the courage to live life in one’s own rendition

The blood in my dancing veins

The trees sway
as they do in darkness
washing over the landscape
I press silence to my chest
my eyes open to the cold
the warmth upon my skin
a luxury to my shuddering bones

I cannot move like trees
in nimble accord with wind
flexible in a state of grace
I do not sweep over the scenery
like the eye of the night
the calm texture of leaves
turning green from seasonal respite

The flesh of the evening
holds nature so stubborn
scattered over hardened mud
I tremble in the grips of earth’s aura
legs quivering in the still
the body keeps the night close
embracing the reverie it seeks to spill

Ill at ease (a true story)

The empty gather
in a corner of the room
congregating in silence
under the stars and the moon

Sometimes they speak in tongues
so opaque and unclear
to break the monotony of the stability
I try to hold so dear

Huddled together
uniform in black suits
they make decisions so grave
without chance for rebuke

I often try to listen
to their words unfamiliar
edging in close to catch a sound
but they disappear all together

Varying in size
in strength with bulging eyes
heavy and precise
with intentions firmly disguised

Forever holding court
my life their sport
watching me when I sleep
mimicking the sound of my snore

I am sometimes at peace
after years of unease
some say they are only figments
others say they’re disease

I entertain and appease
these figures to no end
no matter how close I get
I’m never sure be a true friend


Over the years
I am reminded of your strength
by the willingness of your skin to turn numb
while still facing the inability to assume
that all will be well
that we will all make it one day
to wherever and whatever
we were meant to be

You hold time so preciously
as it slowly effaces the existence around you
losing count of the years
rolling with the punches of experience
from one decade to the next

The power in our numbers dwindling
like a colorful assortment of balloons
holding closely together
but one by one
into the open skies
never to be seen again

You remind yourself
when you are left alone
when the balloons are no longer together
that a single balloon
can still signify a celebration and bring joy
can light up eyes and cause pleasant surprise
a single balloon can still be
everything anyone ever wanted
without the need to ever ask why


Silence reigns through the streets afresh
dust particles carry aimlessly across the city
empty plastic bags, surgical masks, dirt
searching for concrete to settle upon
drifting from street corner to sidewalk

The atmosphere is weakened to static
air drained of its potency
an occasional stranger crosses the road
head lowered in pursuit of an unknown destination
a place that they are increasingly uncertain to reach

We are covered in our protections
jackets, masks, gloves, half prepared for it all
shielded from the elements through the strength of experience
the world stays true to its eternal promise
to never remain the same for long

The good old days appear more the brighter
the future a bleak prospect of ambiguity
minds waste in a slow simmer
fixed upon the sights of society’s skeleton
the bones of our foundation shivering for all to see

An ode to spring

Spring rears its head
within the entrails of eyesight
the clear signs of the season refreshed anew
soaked in the splashes of gleaming sunlight

Pedestrians gathering in their glow
for a show of seasonal beauty
the weather warms to degrees most pleasant
to start the cycle’s endless duty

I run my fingers over the skies so clear
every inch of blue an opening into the infinite
touching the trees and grass so vigorous
the season of growth continues to define the intricate

Through the cold and wet darkness
we emerge prevailing in seasonal shifts
I wipe my eyes clean for freshness redeemed
novelty proceeds with winter a few miles adrift

The embattled

The wings upon our backs are frayed
battered by the storms of sentence
refusing to disappear into dust
still unwilling to return
rejuvenated with touches of hope and trust

We cannot carry on
with the burden of weighted flight
living and learning
rejecting the disappearance
of our ability to balance left with right

Blindfolded is the march
upon the edges of a cliff so steep
we are unsteady at the highest
these wings unbiased
the heart of the journey is ours to keep

The steel beds of winter

Upon the beds of grass
are the simple reliefs of solitude
each sleepy moment
a victory entrenched in nature

The horizon of old trees
cold preserving life
holding onto the land
steeped in wintry night

I sprawl without care
in the throes of the season’s grasp
gazing at the stars through frozen breath
back stretched against the hardened mud

The constellations in the sky are vast
sprinkled without order
winter seeps into the surroundings
whisking away passing breath

I lay in the arms of the season
coddled by wind and ice
silenced by a sequence of heartbeats
and the reflections the moon recites


Within the hands of creation
are jewels laced with infinite wisdom
experience bartered for paper
produces stories of endless possibility

The thoughts churned into refined words
raw emotion exchanged for concise sentences
the art of constructing is layered in delights
words are the engine of vehicles loaded with insights

The pen is made with intentions of expression
not to be confined by the weights of suppression
to build a world requires patience and imagination
upon the fingers of artists are often stains of perspiration

Days spent in solitude for the sake of art
hours upon hours labored to perfect what we start
dreamers and doers blend deep into the mixture
working with care to create blends of the right texture

Creators wish to work magic with a sway of the arm
honing and perfecting works loaded with charm
the guts of practice are patience and dedication
with hopes of reaching new heights of artistic elevation

State of the union

The words upon my chest entangled
holding closely to the heart
tear sentiments to destruction
a world obstructed
ripped apart  

The papers of our existence
have been burned
thoughts packaged and caged
meaning trampled
flattened, forgotten and spurned

Faces upon faces
lost in the fray
a détente fallen to pieces
the human understands
despair descending upon the day

The burial of society
no longer bemoaned
owning up to failures
no more virtuous
the weeds have taken root and grown

Within this wilderness
I gasp and clutch a crushing weight
I tussle with futile words
addressing the absurd
eyes wide open in such a solemnly state