Blank and Broken Pages

What do you do when

the world seems so cold that

even writing can’t provide warmth.

Your being shivers as you try to

cover yourself with the tiny flame

that normally is an inferno;

your hands type along the keys

but they are slow and weak.

Your eyes are soft, your heart motionless,

and mind blank. Who has this power?

How do you conquer? Or is this

just the way that it is going to be?

My Colors in Baltimore

Like a stone cast

Across a river in cascading

Blues and yellows, I shine

And reflect the eloquence

Of the world around me.

With each skip, pop, and skate

My eyes radiate in your tender

Turquoise and reflect your gentle

Trees that furrow under my feet.

In faded greens that are the veins

Carrying my heartbeat, my fingers

Intertwine and lashes dance.

The fluidity of blonde and peach

In an array of sunbeams.

A simplistic dream

As a girl in the city sleeps.


There is no solace

Found under the night

Sun of streetlamps.

The abundance of metal

And concrete is not

The result of human nature,

But is the nature

Of a species that

Can never stop, think.

The air that moves does not

Flow like the river in their bodies.

The madness of their minds

Only reflects on their walk home,

Through blood ridden alleys, drug

Induced slumbers, slouching slanted

Sinister sidewalks, dressed like

Your last midnight battle.


She is the one who daydreams

Deep into the night, carrying

Her life in a backpack, holding herself

Together with duct tape and iron

On patches. Cracked skin, re-stitched

Seams, and abandoned apartments.

Summer in her eyes, autumn in her hair,

Spring in her smile, winter on her breath.

A momentous serenade of a mosaic life

When all the broken pieces come together


Another Statistic: The Ignored Culture

Dark midnight streets

Caught in a firestorm

In the middle of the day.

Gliding parachutes in fearful rays;

Colors falling from the sky

That retreated from the sun

That burned them to shreds.

Eighteen blue threads in mix-matched

And unforgiving reds. The loudmouth

Without vocal cords, but a terrifying

And thrusting body. Covered yourself

The sun is on the run. Twist and shove.

Scratch and rip but remain quiet

Or you’ll become to sun’s second wind.

It’s hands hurt you. They push against you

And inside you a knife tears out

Your womanhood and leaves you full.

Whisper the sun a plead, a fight

Of your tipsy army leaning in the wrong direction.

Just lay where you are the soon it will be over.

Soon is a thousand mile race while balancing

Champagne glasses on your head. From this

You’ll be a pro at standing still. Your body

Forever silent.

Becoming the Knight

Why is it that we search for a savior

When we are the ones who should do the saving?

We wait for someone, as we continue to fight,

Until they suddenly appear and carry us to safety.

But what if they too need saving?

The knight in shining armor is stuck in a rut,

Crying at night, and sleeping during the day.

Their sword hung up on the wall next to the cabinet

where dusty, empty liquor bottles now reside.

So, where is your sword and suit or armor?

Are you willing to be the savior instead of waiting

For your life to fall into place while your lover sinks further

into the darkness of their minds?

Fight for them and be their hero.

“Fear The Heart” (a quick, free written poem)

What I find to be a major roadblock happens to be something I’m inevitably attached too. Brains can be such jerks sometimes and it keeps me from finding my flow. I decided to try something new and do a quick free write and write completely blind. Although I did do some editing at the end to fix my terrible spelling, I left the punctuation out since that was not what I added during the free write.

This experience made me feel a bit like Gertrude Stein, a poet who wrote many of her poems as a spontaneous explosion of words that met paper. It was interesting to see the kind of fluidity I conjured up from this style of writing, and even more so the ideas that blossomed out of an empty mind.

Definitely going to be something I’ll try again.


“Fear The Heart”

Fear the heart and make it sway

Bring the light at the night of day

Press the words and make them sing

Let them dance and let them steam


Bring the light to the night of day

And tie the rope to guide you home

Bring the light at the night of day

And follow the road to guide you home


Straight through the minds of the light of day

Straight to the hearts to the dark of night

Let them meet and let them speak

And let the dark fancy the day.


Fear the heart and make it sway

Be cautious as it guides you home

Bring the light to the night of day

And follow the road as it guides you home.

Eternal Nightmare

Strange things happen between the hours of 12am and 6am–

The world around me crumbles and falls apart.

I fear sleep as it moves so swiftly

Consuming my body as my mind moves elsewhere.

I fear sleep because it reminds me of death–

A strange reality where we have no control.

Like death, sleep is silent, quick, and invisible

As it haunts our thoughts and move us from earth.

Yes, with sleep there may be good dreams that floods our spirit–

A possibility of death being a peaceful adventure,

But that is not what I fear the most.

With sleep you have the possibility of nightmares–

With death the nightmares would be never ending.