My Writing
My collection of poetry, prose, and short stories
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Butcher Language.Chop your prose with punctuation.Splice your sentences to fit your thoughts. Shape language.Twist your words to craft new meanings.Bend the rules of grammar to your will. Steal language.Ravage dictionaries for inspiration.Wield each syllable as a tool for creation. Language is meant to be used.
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Capitalism killed the artistSo they could sell the corpse.They pick it apart, piece by piece,Like chop-shop scavengers. Then they reassemble it,A mockery of the artist’s work. A hapless thing they forced into life,A Frankenstein’s monster.
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Gaslights flicker in the heavens now,Since the sky fell and smothered the stars.They tell us that this nightmareIs just a dream, not reality.Until we believe that thisIs the way it always was.
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Writing for work was sapping my confidence and creativity. I work in the travel industry, and genuinely enjoy my job. I get to work with innkeepers and campgrounds from all around the country (and Canada), and learn about the hidden gems in cities and towns of all sizes. In many ways, it’s a dream job.…
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The war machine is gearing up turning soldiers into dollars. Lives are cheap in the land of the free, and voters love a martyr. Invasions are 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…
Bringing Mae Flowers 