My Writing
My collection of poetry, prose, and short stories
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The war machine is gearing up turning soldiers into dollars. Lives are cheap in the land of the free, and politicians love good martyrs. Invasions cost the price of boots and blood on foreign soil. What are soldiers’ lives and civilian deaths when it comes to premium oil? They sell our souls to invest in
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A pen and a sword A hammer and boards: The tools of the jack-of-all-trades Pulling needle and thread Sowing fields, building beds: The skills of the jack-of-all-trades A butcher a baker A candlestick maker: The jobs of the jack-of-all-trades Watch him juggle and bounce As he lives hand to mouth: That’s the life of the
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I am not a poet. Does that mean I shouldn’t write? Are my words meaningless because they aren’t high art? I am not a philosopher. Does that mean I shouldn’t think? Are my thoughts meaningless if they aren’t soliloquy? I am not an academic. Does that mean I shouldn’t learn? Is my education meaningless because
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There’s a ring on my finger; I wish I could show it to you. I wish I could call you on the phone and start making plans– Like we used to. There’s a dress that I’m buying. I wish that I could buy it with you. I wish that you could come along and dress
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There’s a lilac tree nearby. I smell it on the wind that blows Softly- Enough to carry a scent But not enough to make the windchimes Sing with the sparrows and the chickadees. Or maybe it’s the jasmine That lingers on my skin and Evaporates Into the setting sun. Twilight is fleeting and snow is
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First they came for the hungry; I said nothing, for I had meat. Then they came for the thirsty; I said nothing, for I had drink. Then they came for the stranger; I said nothing, for we didn’t meet. Then they came for the sick and imprisoned; I said nothing, for I walked free. I
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They gave out bread and circuses As Rome was burning down. Now Nero’s in the White House Wearing a gilded crown. They gave us tariffs and TikTok Instead of jobs and eggs. Now Nero’s out playing golf And freezing federal aide. They’ll serve us dreams and promises, As they put the country up for sale.
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Saving pennies will add up If given enough time, But hard earned penies don’t bring luck When 2 cents cost a dime. While we’re all pinching pennies In order to survive, Billionaires spend millions To buy and sell our lives.
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I’m me, too much Too tense Too intense. Tightly wound ‘til I snap And wind back up again. I’m me, too much Too high Too low. Falling down until I’m up In an upside down world. I’m me, too much Too insane Too sane. Chasing thoughts ‘til I’m lost Inside my own brain. I’m me,
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I’ve become a political poet. If the last few months have been good for anything, it’s inspiration. I’ve been spitting out poems about current events on a weekly, sometimes daily, basis. While most of those rough drafts don’t see the light of day, I deemed several decent enough to share on TikTok and this blog.
Bringing Mae Flowers 