Poems
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I walk down empty streets under a gray sky. A crow caws overheard- answered by its murder’s calls. The brisk east wind blasts across the lake racing toward the mountains. It pushes back my black hood, and tangles my long hair. My nose reddens with the cold’s sting. New buds grow on the bare trees,
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I walked outside and everything was grey scale. Devoid of color, devoid of time the world was neither dark nor bright, but somewhere in-between. Silver sky reflected in white snow- contrasted by the charcoal shadows and black-tar roads. There was no color. There was no sound. No children laughing, talking, shouting- They are all at
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Brown Christmas: A Poem About Growing-up Southern It never snowed on Christmas in Houston. Growing up, the December was nippy- and browning grass was crisp with frost. Our breath rose in puffs before our faces- but snow never fell on Christmas day. I didn’t mind that Christmas’s weren’t snowy. We had everything we
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When the wind picks up and the temperature drops down- When harvest is gathered and leaves turn and fall- When the daylight fades and the darkness waxes strong- That’s when the ghosts plague us all. We are all haunted by our own ghostly ghouls: Haunted by the apparitions of our troubled souls. Haunted by
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I cried tonight The first time since we broke us. The first tears since the last time That we failed to break the curse that keeps us apart. I cried tonight. The first time since I gave up. The first ache since I allowed numbness To replace sharp despair over how close we
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One last, one last time. You asked me for one last, one last time. Against my better judgement I gave it to you. One last, one last time. I fell for you one last, one last time. I knew it would end- But I loved you. One last, one last time. I cried
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It tastes like a long vacation: tropical mango, and island pineapple, and Margaritas on the beach. It tastes like childhood: water from a garden hose, potato chips, and peanut butter sandwiches. It tastes like satisfaction: salty sweat on tanned skin, a rushed lunch, and a glass of cold beer. It tastes like warmth: golden grains
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He’ll be home for Christmas. I haven’t seen him since the green summer at the bay. The blue seawater off the coast- And the setting sun on the Ferry Slip- a memory to last through the lonely autumn. But, he’ll be home for Christmas- To warm me again as the days grow short and cold.
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*Inspired by a walk through campus during finals week.* Finals Week: A Poem The smell of coffee and desperation is in the air. All along hallways students frantically thumb through textbooks, Mutter over notebooks, And curse over flashcards. Students pass-out on the floor, Backpacks used as pillows and jackets as blankets. I walk
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My favorite Holiday is fast approaching- THANKSGIVING! In honor of this family-gathering Holiday I thought a little family-centered poem would be in order. A family tradition Of our own making- Grandpa’s stories told at each gathering Tales of misadventure: Of a child, Marine, father, and grandpa, Delight and entertain the growing clan.
Bringing Mae Flowers 