Category: Poetry

Fearless

October 8, 2025

The secret to fearless is not telling anyone about that fear,

Sometimes you’re so afraid,

Even though,

The toothpick bones that hold

Together fearless, 

Tremble at the feet

Of that giant obstacle.

The drum-like heart

That pounds a comforting rhythm

Into the bloodstream, ups the tempo, 

To an instinctual speed.

The skin prickles,

And there’s a scream 

Dangling off the edge of your tongue.

But fear is in the mind,

By the slaps of

Its withered hands,

A suffered, but wise soul

Learns from that hand

To anticipate

And react instead of accept.

Fearless.

Fear is human, it is accepting

To be afraid sometimes.

But I’m sure the greatest

Heroes that ever stomped upon

The earth, cried on the inside,

Though, held stoic to make an example

For the rest of us,

That fearless is not a fable,

But is human.

Summer Summer

August 12, 2025

The Mourning Doves are washed white
In the summer summer sunlight.
The dog kicks up dust,
Chewing on a rib bone,

All new blinking eyes,
Now wriggle like the arc of the flame,
Up and up and up,
Thrilled to be alive,
Seeing, seeing, seeing it all.

Young romance lock lips in public,
Accentuated by the heat that loosens
Survival instincts, sweat on skin,
Passion, ardor, ecstatic energy.

The fire in all grows, grows, and grows.

This is not the time to be tame, or quiet, or passive.
Action’s climax happens here, fruition, harvest,
The good part of the story,
The dance by the drumbeat understood by all.
Summer Summer, Summer Summer.


No living thing hibernates,
No ember hides in the ashes,
No isolation to withdraw into.

Today is when we meet the maker, sword in hand,
As the drumbeat picks up,
Fingers play faster on the white keys,
Roaring like rolling thunder,
Pushing, pushing, pushing-
Beating like an orgasm,

Today is the unforgettable moments,
The day to be proud,
The day to make mistakes,
This is chance at its most fortuitous stage,

Before the Fall, Fall, Fall.

THE MEMBRANE

April 14, 2025

I can’t put my finger on it,

But I can feel,

Something is different

Than how it was yesterday.

It’s like a cord of wood split,

And one side has fallen to the dried leaves

While the other half still stands at odds with its existence.

But the split is the part I don’t understand.

It’s hard to sleep with the weight of two worlds on my mind,

As if before I was born, they had eclipsed each other,

And now they pull apart.

One, I fear for,

And one, I hope for.

I’m not sure which one is which.

I can imagine two bubbles in reverse,

As sometimes they can collide and become one,

But it’s an energy skin,

The membrane of one existence

Separating from another.

The reason or the science isn’t mine to understand,

And even if I knew, it would not help me to better cause,

But I have a feeling,

That everything will change,

And either we’re the bubbles in reverse,

Or yesterday’s news.

PARADISE

December 12, 2024

The ones who will promise to lead you to paradise,
Speak between gritted teeth, as they either have
Never known what paradise is or
Squirrel to keep it to themselves.
Paradise has been wrongly interpreted,
Trapped in Chronos’ threshold
For longer than the interlocked arms
Of my ancestors to my living flesh,
As I hear them whisper, “Take me to paradise…”
The edge of it all, it is not a place but a feeling.

Maybe the land you walk upon,
The gazes caught in your eye,
The alluring sensations
Help you find paradise.

It is rooted to none of those.
Most will feel paradise before they pass.
This is because no thing they have done in the past matters to this moment.
Paradise resides in every one of us,
The air harnessers, the light bringers, the compassionate.
It is the mana. It is the sacred wonder in awe. It is absolving.


When the sun rises from its golden throne,
It is not a given,
One day, the balance of existence will simply shift and a new process begins.
When the moon appears amongst the skies that hold all that is beyond,
It is not a given.
When you take a deep breath and absorb the air created from chaos and order,
It is not a given.
When the soil nurturing under your feet fosters the seed to grow,
It is not a given.

Paradise recognizes the moment, holding ground and air in balance.
No one can give you this, no thing can give you this.
A man of luxury may or may not get to feel the paradise that resides within.
A man of little may or may not get to feel the paradise that resides within.
But the animals feel paradise all of the time.

They know no other way to live.
From the frigid tundras, to the harsh and unforgiving deserts,
From the land manipulated into cities to the burning forests from which they flee,
They still feel paradise.
The teeth that sink into flesh for consumption,
In the warmth of the blood given and taken- paradise exuberates.

May we not seek paradise anymore.
May we not allow the lie to sour our sweetest dreams,
May we not be tricked into another’s paradise,
May we not pretend to have it, and have nothing at all.
May we reside as our own, in our own as the animals do,
As our ancient ancestors once have.
May we all feel paradise
Rooted to presence, gratitude, prayer, intention, and love.
May paradise be shared, spoken out loud from the heart,
May it lead to conversation, friendship and relationship.
May we feel paradise together, because no paradise has one king on the mountain,
But a tribe of kings serving each other.