Eros Explored

I saw you first after a war

Ashes, blood, and gunpowder

carpeting the battle floor.

And you were the pretty poppy poking through.


Picture Mine

At night when I try to sleep

When nightmares come creeping in

I pass the time by counting sheep

And you’re every single one


Picture Mine

Now I try, I try to write,

putting my story in ink

try to record my sad sorry fight

And you’re the inkblot on my quill.


Picture Mine



I go up and I go down,

but the fall never leaves.

The change, the chill, round and round.

And you’re the crisp in the autumn breeze.


Picture Mine


Though, I’m okay with the cold,

shivering dancing shivering alone.

Just watching how events unfold.

Because you’re when my favorite song begins.







So… I actually did NaPoWriMo

Hello followers!  Because I’ve been deadly quiet all month long, you’ve probably thought I wasn’t  doing NaPoWriMo.  Or thought  I was never going to write again.  Or thought I was dead.  Okay, probably none of you thought about me that much.  That said, after NaPo, I think I might have a handful of decent poetry to share with you.  If you  like them enough, maybe I’ll post more.  Enjoy!

Traumatic Stress

She closes her eyes

His hands on her again

She opens her eyes

Everyone still a predator


He closes his eyes

The guns sounding again

He opens his eyes

War still surrounds him


She closes her eyes

Her child dies again

She opens her eyes

Death still permeates


He closes his eyes

Blood pours out again

He opens his eyes

The wound still there

Source: Google Images


Seven Out of One Hundred

Seven out of one hundred

Recieve a crown

Ninety three out of one hundred

Get knocked down

Seven out of one hundred

Respected for life

Ninety three out of one hundred

Only get strife

Seven out of one hundred

West and whitest

Ninety three out of one hundred

Best and brightest

Seven out of one hundred

Join the club

Ninety three out of one hundred

Ones they snub



If You Stayed

I’ve looked at the world through this telescope, and it looks beautiful and bright.  Will it still look that way when I get there?

Yes, of course dear.  Your world will always look beautiful and bright.

I’ve gotten closer to the world now, and I can see some places that don’t glimmer.  Will I be able to make them shine again?

Yes, of course dear.  Your world will always shine.

I’ve reached the world now.  The sun was shining for a while, but now there are clouds.  Will the sun come back again?

Yes, of course dear.  Your sun will always come back.

The sun hasn’t come back at all.  Nothing shines and it’s dark and cold.  Will I ever feel warm again?

I’m sorry, dear.  But you’ll feel warm again soon enough.

The plants have all withered, leaving me hungry.  I’ve never felt so empty.  Will I ever feel full again?

I’m sorry, dear.  But you’ll feel full again in due time.

The world is ice, the world is cold, the world is storm.  I wish I withered with the plants.  Will I ever wish otherwise?

I’m sorry dear.  But please don’t go; you’ll be happy one day.

I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  I couldn’t make it because I kept hoping and you kept promising, but none of your promises came true.  So I figured nothing ever would.

I miss you every day dear.  So does the sun, which came back.  So do the plants, which grew back.  I think you’d be happy now, if you had stayed.  If…    



The Nut-Cracked Nutcracker

I am sorry.  Despite the fact that it is Christmas Eve, I cannot refain from writing  tragedy.  I hope you can forgive me.

Once there was a nutcracker who came out of a box from under a tree.

Two children, one boy and one girl, both shouted and clapped with glee.

They played games to cuddle him, they played games to send him to war,

With their new nutcracker they played games they never thought of before.

The relatives smiled while the boy and girl played with their new doll

Until the children hatched a terrible naughty plan which was no good at all.

When their parents weren’t looking, they took the nutcracker to the kitchen.

They climbed the counter to find a nut, opened their friends’ mouth, and slipped it in.

Then the girl pushed on the lever until she heard a terrible crack.

Screaming, she pulled the nutcracker to her, and its mouth went slack.

The boy pulled her arm, handed her a nut, and begged her to try once more.

Because if not to crack nuts, then what is a nutcracker for?

So she tried the trick again, only to make the nutcracker’s mouth break in two.

When the nutcracker’s mouth fell, the children filled the kitchen with sounds of boo hoo.

Huddling in the corner, they made such a ruckus all the relatives came.

With horror they gaped at the once beautiful nutcracker.  They knew who to blame.

So then the children received a scolding to last them a lifetime.

By the end they felt as if they had committed the worst most awful crime.

And every Christmas thereafter, a broken nutcracker sat in the windowsill,

Presiding over every Christmas season, despite the regret he would instill

In the two young children who learned a valuable lesson that fateful day:

That you cannot crack nuts with a wooden nutcracker, try as you may.

As the years went on, regret gave way.  The humor and folly of the story began to blur,

Thus it became a family legend: the tale of the nut-cracked nutcracker.

Yes, I know.  Tragic.  Please forgive me for the ridiculousness of this poem.  Merry Christmas!!!


Happy Ending

This is.

This is my happy ending.

See it.

See it without you.

Lights twinkle.

Lights twinkle in my eyes.

Without you.

Without you life goes on.

I’m happy.

I’m happy without you.

My happiest ending.

My happiest ending is happiness without you.


English Lessons

I’m drifting away as you speak

Tuning out your confession of love

Burrying it in my own thoughts


Although your words are honey sweet

Delivered with poise and grace

Like recited sonnets, like Shakespeare’s scripts

I think

You must have failed English class

You must have never paid attention,

Never passed an assignment


Any English teacher would have taught

Show, not tell


How a Dream Dies

Let me tell you how a dream dies.

  1. You have an hour glass before your face.

You watch each grain fall into place.

You think your dream will come at a steady pace.

But darling, that’s not the case.

2. At first you don’t notice that hairline crack.

And once you do, there’s no going back.

All you can do is watch the world go black

as the fragile glass holding your dream shatters.

3. You thought your dream would slowly trickle out.

Instead it spills out in a single spout.

You grab the grains of sand to push them back,

but they fall through your fingers like bits of ash.

4. In one moment your dream is gone.  What to do?

You’ll likely laugh at it one day, pretend it didn’t matter

only to hide how much it did,

   and that your dream will always live in you,

in the form of regret.

Water Eyes

Your eyes are water


When we first met they were the sea

So beautiful, so vast, so wild

I could easily get lost

And I did

After that your eyes became a mountain stream

Friendly, peaceful

Cool and refreshing

Gurgling and full of life

Then I don’t  know what happened

Your eyes became ice

Jagged jarring cold

It made us both freeze

And last of all

I remember so well

When I said goodbye

Your eyes weren’t the wild sea

The gurgling stream

Or jagged ice

But they were still water


They were tears.


If you bleed when you fall, it’s just a sign of life

‘Cause we cried with our first breath, gasping for air ever since

Growing in and out of skins, just another strife

Four legs to two to three, that’s why we all wince

Sprouting wings, finding they don’t last long

Hitting hard ground, our faces in the rocks, the dirt again

Sages loosing mind, beauts loosing face, that’s our sad song

Running and running, Rover chases his rear, round and round, count to ten

Caught in the inevitable tide, bleeding against rocks

Trying to grow wings that last; that’s why we all strive

What’s urgent won’t matter, and what matters hides behind locks

Bleeding, crying, growing, flying, falling, running.  We’re alive.


We are the puppets

With our clapping wooden limbs

Trying to follow along

As the puppeteers pull us in a garish dance

No one notices


Yearning for our splinters to smooth into skin

Overshadowed by the real actors on the stage

Some sever their strings

Diving in the darkened dust

Dismay aside, we don’t drop the dance

Ever wondering why we do

‘Cause no one notices we’re made of wood

We reach

reminding ourselves the most real of us were all wooden once

We dance with painted grins

To hid the grimace within

Hoping to be real

Hoping to be free