• poems,  poetry

    hydrants and wrinkles.

    stones feel red hot silent bottoms of pink toes and hard heels bounce. we took pleasure in the tower of wet refreshed in white cotton and store bought uniform, we darted and jumped- the red man spewing from above. shiny hair, matted locks on backs, swollen eyes and out of breath. we were the same. children loving the moment till the light dimmed and our teeth chattered in the summer evening heat.

  • poetry

    My First Attempt At The Biography Section.

    So I have started reading Charles Bukowski. I have also started reading Pablo Neruda. I knew that they were influential writers of the 20th century, but did not know who they really were until I started reading. As dissimilar as they first appear to be, their emotions parallel. So, if I got any of this wrong, would someone tell me? I’m new to the whole “biography of poets I hardly know” thing. Bukowski (Heinrich Karl Bukowski/Henry Charles Bukowski) was born in Germany to a reportedly abusive father. He went to college out of high school for two years. At 24 he was published, and then again two years later. He…

  • poems,  poetry

    found, cold and ashamed.

    awkward feetstinging in wornshoesdrenched with mud shame and sweatstabs in chesthurtfrom the cold air tired handsshaking in the darktremblingsearching found hersilent, coldblue and alone her chestis stillher breastsdo not heave he would gazefrom afaras she curvedand softened he felt hermarble cold facetouched the skinhe longed for took her innocenceshe never lostwhen red love coursedin her thighs

  • poems,  poetry

    A 30 Second Dream

    in the dead blue nightthe solid hard still coldthe steps are smalldarting and weavingfor sure footingto find the journey end feet entwinedstumbledreaching forfamiliar and exquisitei find her her tear soakedchinher warm chestfumbled handsknow the skinthat has never touched his it is calmserenepureand still he criesnot hearing her voicebut feeling her words in the still warm comfort.

  • Uncategorized

    Mr. T Loves His Mama.

    I try not to give the traditional holiday wishes… I tend to go for more eclectic tidings. Mother’s Day is one of those holidays that should not be forgotten. Mothers do so much every day, they give of themselves selflessly. Think of your mother today. Do something for her. Even if she is no longer with us, remember her and cherish her love. There is nothing like a mother’s love. It can be unbreakable, total, and pure. Mothers would take all the pain they could to keep their children from a second of that pain. Unconditional. With that said, and what was said earlier, I give you Mr. T singing…

  • Uncategorized

    I want to be a Systems Analyst when I grow up…

    I’m told that life is full of sacrifice. The small bit of optimism in me wonders why it must be that way. Why do we give up our dreams… why do we put the wishes of our youth away? We grow up and we do what needs to be done. We lose those dreams for staunch resolution. Compromise and negotiation. Why are we conditioned to do what’s “needed” instead of what we want? When we are children we have all of this wonderment. Naivety. Innocence. We want to be firefighters, astronauts, doctors, and cowboys. It’s so very easy to say. As kids, we just want it to happen. We don’t…