*A poem about feeling overwhelmed by life. May be triggering for some readers* I'm drowning in a self-created sea. Made of tasks, duties, and responsibilities. I asked for this. I thought I wanted more, but I'm in over my head. The water's getting deeper, and I'm too tired to tread. I'm slowly slipping under- anyone … Continue reading Overwhelmed Sea
I can never go back to Tooele or I might pass that Greek Cafe and remember the afternoon we ate lemon-rice soup and baklava after shopping in the one antique shop in town. I can never go back to Tooele. Or I might drive up that canyon road and remember when we escaped to the … Continue reading I Can Never Go Back
In the dead of night, silence dances to the racing of my heart. I sit in my bed illuminated by my lamp's orange glow. Hours slide past as time stands still- I'm as calm and raging as flickering flame. And I gulp down herbal tea as if it's the remedy to the manic anxiety in … Continue reading Late Night Anxiety
I still think of you when I hear that song. But today, instead of the familiar stab of pain, I smiled, then laughed, then sang along.
Coffee in the morning sitting at my desk. Tea after lunchtime- while I take a little rest. A Glass of wine with dinner, with a fruity plume. An herbal drink at night time, a nightcap in my room. My day measured in beverages, drank at their appointed time. A mug, a teacup, and a stemmed … Continue reading A Day in Beverages
I was never a good poet. My brain seems hardwired for prose. I can write a beautiful sentence full of metaphor and irony, but any attempt to craft that into something short ultimately results in something cliche and insincere. Still, despite my shortcomings, I never stopped trying to write poems. I still enjoy the genre … Continue reading My Bad Poetry: Should I Quit?
Every winter I seclude myself in my hobbit hole of a home. I surround myself with hot beverage, warm blankets, and fuzzy sweaters so I can pretend that the cold doesn't exist. The short days drag into never-ending weeks of self-isolation and hibernation. All the hours pass by in a gray smog of monotony, fatigue, … Continue reading Winter Melancholy
Has the night always encroached so quickly, after the leaves have turned? Has the dark always fallen so surely after the first season's snow? Have the days always been so short? Have hours always felt so long? Has winter always entered so suddenly? Where has the autumn gone?
I walk down empty streets under a gray sky. A crow caws overheard- answered by it's 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 and ears redden with the cold. New buds grow on the bare … Continue reading Autumn or Spring?
I don't consider myself a poet. I used to write a lot of sub-par poetry in high school and in the early years of college, but I grew out of the habit. It wasn't a loss, more of transition. The style of writing most natural to me is prose, so I focused more on that … Continue reading Writing Poems at 3am