Selected Poems

The Architect

I found you in the spoken word,
with life unknown and stories unheard.
Until the generosity subsides
atop the waves of the waning tide.
I think, I cry, begin to utter,
the sound of my heart without a hesitant shudder.
Unblinking eyes, I’ve chosen my diction
and call upon the chords with unquestioned conviction.
Know if I fail, if I move forward,
I swear never to leave my sky castle bordered.



Jars of Change

She stands rearranged with her jars of change
and can’t turn the page though the novel is slain.
She attacks the conclusion with entitled intrusion
that’s distantly kept as an island illusion.

Many inquire- curious, intrigued
She grasps herself steady fighting battle fatigue.
Now lightly past tension, no chase but progression
patient and hoping; enlightenment in session.

So long she saved and alone yet she paved
the road to the riches, to the people she waved.
Did not drop a dime but lost her sublime-
amounted to much! But still could not buy time…

Spoken Motion
A leaf’s perfected reverberation,
a fleeting moment of inspiration.
I can tell you quickly, before it fades-
the marvel I seek and the purpose it craves.
The rhythm of time knows not of a griever,
but the intoxicating ardor of a kindled receiver.
One foot in the grave, the other in the shower-
unguarded by the minute but conquering the hour.
Who can describe what the shutter embraces?
Seen through the eyes of unshakable faces.
We capture the canvas- not knowing reciprocity,
but with unyielding affection and lawless curiosity.

Let It Rain

The steam of potential rises from you when you speak.
Not to say your energy evaporates quickly,
but that your motivation has heated to boiling point.
Eager to make its way to the clouds
where it will cool, but never fade.
Creating formations in the sky,
playing tricks and stimulating those who dare gaze up,
they dream… and as the clouds thicken
they will experience precipitation-
an outpour of your actions
that will lead them to believe that
they too can make it rain.
Ths bringing to life and awakening
the sleepers of this Earth.

I used the count the fives of time. With tiny details, a minute was mine. Then grew the hours, the days and the nights. Now I am running, and picking the fights. I used to play with letters and words, now I’m compiling sentences into stories absurd. Learning to speak became training to lie. I’d author fine fictions when they asked me “why?” So I tried manipulation and mastered the weave. Before my eyes I watched the innocence leave.

Right then I faced defeat, held its hand- drew my life on its surface sand. Seen it washed away by all the waves and watched it lower into its grave. Failure is beautiful when you see how it dies- of pride and tears she is comprised. Water flows, weaving, crashing, retreating. So much that we miss when too busy with scheming. See where everyone else ditched they’ve got nothing but lose ends- know living your best life is the best of revenge.

Alas- I’ve been told I got a problem with some dude named “authority” but sounds like he’s got issues … I’m my own priority. When I tried to do right- I was called out as wrong. Sick of the passengers seat, just riding along. I said, “NO! I’m my pilot, I’m my cure!” Don’t need your robotic remedy to reassure. I’m on top I’m beaming; now you’ll see. Remember this word that moves the world- Opportunity.