There was once a time that I wanted an inground pool. Not the silly floating abomination which was a large plastic tub and the epitome of disguised poverty in the 90s, rather a lunchables and snack packs kind of pool made for kings (and queens) who sat poolside in floaties because we could hardly swim; …
a poem
like a tree upon the waters whose shadow is cast before the reeds the damp sod hardens into cool, red clay beneath its roots and moss, settling upon the wise tree bark as though an armor— I stand with the cattails; amongst the blue grass, the dandelions, the whistling ferns winds meandering past in pursuit …
Robert Frost
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. The Road Less Traveled
Hesed
when I lay down to sleep how should I know that I will wake? and yet, I believe so never have I feared that strange darkness the circus of arcane dreams; how jealous I am of my sleeping self, that I should trust the world to be as it was when I left it I …
prognosis
i stand alone under the fig tree bathed in patchwork shadow, the mosaic of flies humming in my ears a libation; for miles there was but the sands and this refuge, a lonely fig tree an iambic confection at times an oracle yet others, quietly eroded by time; i contemplate its parables. firstly, the barren …
ghosts of the sea
the smell of sea-salt lingers on the wind, a memory tugs sort of painful but im grateful for it somehow. the bright white restless sand plucks my eyes and in the recesses i recall... the you that doesnt exist anymore smiling at me who doesnt exist, anymore. eight years of wisdom poured into a sweaty …
moth gitana
me dicen que soy plaga invasora en esto yo no creo ¿quién me trajo a las afueras de mi tierra y me abandonó en las profundas de me ser? pues está roto el barco de mi reencarnación la crisálida no puedo volver— no puedo y me dicen invasora; que tuviera alas que me lleven al …
sadness and sorrow
I contend with this heavy sorrow this unrepentant thief of mine which rolls in sea-like billows upon the shores of sacred mind; it devours the threads of reason embittered by trifles and cursed lies and mocks the grief of happier days for which my soul would pine; so, I vagabond through ennui and despair to …
a writer’s desk
A page barren of thought I could but hardly say, the lantern's wick has hardened the crowd is gone away shivering leaflets fallen on frozen beds of hay ideas congealed in bottled ink I stand before the fray— of cold, plagerized pages in 21st century gray of renditions and other nonsense that shall never see …
october sky
October will be my spring held aloft in the soft pine needles of the stratus cloud placid waters a gelid graveyard, stagnant waiting "Be still, don't try harder," the adage whispers; I breathe. Sometimes, one can see his reflection on the surface beneath the periwinkle sun he contemplates the thought of drowning believes he must, …
The-Bleu-Bivouac 