Smoke and soot.
A candle left to burn for too long.
A campfire just waiting to become cold.
Unused logs.
Waiting for another winter.
Beige and brown and chopped.
A recently demolished treehouse,
now a childhood memory.
a free verse poem
Smoke and soot.
A candle left to burn for too long.
A campfire just waiting to become cold.
Unused logs.
Waiting for another winter.
Beige and brown and chopped.
A recently demolished treehouse,
now a childhood memory.
The downpour must be waiting for something.
All the spent brush littering the hillside to the right,
mostly brown to the left as well,
railroad tracks not far behind, hidden by the slopes.
“I swear it’s beautiful in the spring.”
Continue reading “By the River”& pines & snow
Do not mind it.
The coffee is steamy for once,
and the sun rises through a layer of gray fog
itself invisible but its light apparent.
Continue reading “Til Tomorrow, Love”perhaps it is the way that life itself seems to disappear
I am a summertime poet;
I cannot wax lyrical about the bare branches
or frosty earth.
Perhaps it is the fact that the blood,
so warm as it rushes through my core
turns oh so frigid by the time it reaches my fingertips.
Continue reading “L’Hiver de la tristesse”Ode to a Fan
Fan provides cool breeze,
Continue reading “Cool Breeze”I place one foot in front of the other.
My heart beats rhythmically.
My hands rest delicately at my sides.
My feet are planted firmly on the ground.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Continue reading “Breathe In, Breathe Out”