Poetry

A selection of recent poetry.

In 2019, I self-published a 200-page poetry and art book, 100 Days of Feeling My Feelings, funded through a successful Kickstarter.

Water

You can keep your clear skies
Give me gray
Give me water
Give me thunder
Give me violent
swells of feeling
Because I am alive
and refuse
to forget it

Awake

Sometimes it hurts
to be awake
because you can’t run
from the pain
when it sneaks in
with an obvious stealth
that somehow
still lands you
on the kitchen floor
at 8 am
crying into your coffee cup

Sometimes it hurts
to be awake
but I’d rather live close
to something great,
in the shadow
of a mountain
where the dark
is cold
and the wilderness
knocks on my door
in untamed gusts
that sometimes
blow me over

Tumbling
tumbling
down her barren body
into the depths of
a winter’s bone

Sometimes it hurts
to be awake
but I’d rather
accept the gifts
of white waters
than slumber
on the shores,
mellow
but
asleep

Today I marvel

I twist through towering canyons
numb to their significance
as if they were my own two feet,
little miracles
being risen upon daily
and almost always
left unthanked.
But not today.
Today I marvel
from an angle unknown
like looking at a lover’s face
upside down,
a familiar thing
suddenly foreign.
I remember the days
I yearned
for these ridges,
these rivers,
these pillars of rock.
And now here I am
simply trying
not to forget
their presence.

Day 030/100

Some things serve you for a season
-- 6 months, a year or ten --
and when the time comes
to let go, you’ll know.
Do it simply,
swiftly,
and with gratitude.

Six gardens

Is it so bad
I might just want
to make food
and clean my house
on a Monday?

Is it so bad
I might just want
a humble life,
one without much glitz,
on the land?

Maybe I find my power
in summer prairie roses
or the nearly frozen trickle
of a winter’s stream
when no one is around
to listen.

Why all the talk
of six figures?
What if I want
six gardens?

Vegetables x 3
Fruits x 2
And one for mushrooms

Why would I choose
to spend my late youth
waiting to retire,
when I could write and paint
forever
with my six gardens
a plenty?

Day 002/100

I refuse to apologize
for my sadness.
It is as much a part of me
as my joy.

By our own hearts

A familiar pain
stops my breath,
clenches my chest,
and begs to be seen.
I look with my eyes
like a straight shooter
at a speck in the night sky
turning murky,
disappearing beneath my gaze.
I look with my mind
and it escapes
like a stone to sand
in desperate palms.
I hear a voice,
slow and sweet
and fresh as nectar.
“Look with your heart,
the seer of truth.”
I wait there,
not even for a beat,
as the pain gallops forth
and spills over,
blossoming in admission.
A mirror reflects me
back to me
and I ask a question
that’s not really one:
Are we all just dying
to see and be seen
by our own hearts?

Day 022/100

To all the parts of me
I left behind:
It was no one’s fault
but mine.
I hear your whispers,
I see your shadows.
I’m not leaving this time.

On getting older

I love getting older.

I love that my time
is spent on recipes
and books
rather than
boys and looks
(although I still love
some classic, quality pieces).

I love that I care
more about what goes in
my body than
what goes over it.

I love the calmness I feel.
The soft assuredness
that this is all I need,
that I am free
and loved.

I love knowing
the battles I’ve won and lost.
The wounds and scars
that have made my soul
expand in ways
it never knew it could.

I’m learning to love
the changes in my body
and skin.
This vessel teaches me
how to love deeper
every day.

I love that the fire
in my belly still roars
but it’s shifted from
stormy, whipping flames
to a steady, bold
ember, the hottest
it’s burned yet.

Day 081/100

“What should we do next?”
The words almost leave my lips
but I catch them first.
If I think about then
I won’t see the heron
strutting in the river grass now.
I won’t feel the wind, how cool
and thick with salt it is.
So I let the question evaporate
and drop back into now.