The Color Black

As children, a black crayon or marker is viewed As nothing more than unnecessary and unused; That is, until we get older and spend an hour Trying to find that once useless color To make blackout poetry

The Writer’s Purpose

My pen has not met paper for quite some time, But that does not mean that it has forgotten how to write Or how to create elegant images for the minds of others, For that is the writer's purpose.


It is the cotton of your favorite winter blanket And the fur of your kitten that you just adopted, As well as the vase that stands empty in the corner of the living room. It sounds like morning mist whispering on a Saturday And the heavy thunder outside your window that shakes the glass ever... Continue Reading →

In Season

Sunlight stretches just above the Strings of Wheat that cover a former Naked Field that did not grow in harsh weather; Out of Season, the sign read as hung by the Farmer Who doubted the regrowth of his only business, But to his delight the Day unveiled a fresh beginning And something to wake up... Continue Reading →

The Civilian’s Perspective

Without time, he is afraid of the night; Letters following war, pride from playing the hero All for something calm, for justice; Blind to carriers of difficult results, and To who really are the heros This piece of Found Poetry was crafted simply because the topic of war has always interested me, more so when... Continue Reading →


Overwhelming waves of excitement Swallow me whole in warm Cascades that come and go, Drowning out the ugly thoughts And all of the approaching deadlines So that I may remain focused On what is to come much too Slowly, but much too fast All at once

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