Charcoal Outline

If shadows could speak,
mine and yours would converse
about the fragile life
​of daffodils,

the softness of constellations
and the way light billows
through strands of our hair;

silhouettes sleeping

within the length
of one another.



Arranging Flowers

He didn’t carve initials
in that oak tree we lay beneath,
but, we tasted syllables.
rolling off the tongue,
from his lips to mine
and back again,
quenching our thirst
with the juice of poetry
dripping down pink curves;
fingers finding metaphor
within tangled limbs-
searching for alliteration
in a handful of wildflowers;
breaths meeting
in the middle
of love’s sentence


Morning Glory


Oh, light, posing promise,

                        like posies,

        picked apart, strewn;


        like morning glory,



                below bedroom windows.


Oh, jealous moon

     tempting twilight,

        with its scattered stars




  like the thoughts

         you left me with.



Faded Simile


There are syllables swirling
blown through fingers
like kisses to the heavens;
love letters
running through my veins.

I tape poetry to my eyelids
and wake up in verse;

simile swirling in my coffee cup.


There were pages penned
in a candlelit room;
notebooks hidden under the covers,

glass slipper rhymes
composed of dreams
in condensation
from weary eyes
and a faded simile.


I saw your footprints
beneath disappearing ink;
snow covered paths you cleared
with loving sentences
fingertips brushing cheeks

lips upon quivering lips.


You never ended with question marks,
or frowned
upon ambiguous behavior,
you just stood
beside me, held me up

lay me down in wildflowers
like a gift
under the sun.


I am broken, battered,
but devoted.
I am troubled, excitable, flawed,
but forgiven.

I stand,
even when I feel frail
mimic petals of a rose;

bloom, wilt,
and bloom again


Love Letter #38 Poetic Device

I taped your words
to a quiet place in my mind
so that all I have to do
is close my eyes

to read you.

I eat, sleep and dream
high on metaphor,
romanced by alliteration;

imagery like flowers
brings me to my knees
in a garden
of syllables.

Sprinkle my senses
with sweet assonance;

two lumps of inspiration in my morning coffee.

~Day 26 of NaPoMo (a poem a day in April for National Poetry Month)


Love Letter # 33: In Chasse’

She spins pirouette
in anticipation
of just one look
at his next stanza.

Alliteration blooms
against the backdrop
of ambiguous metaphor
in chasse’ of love
between lines 6 and 7;

hopeless poet,
blushing pink in sigh,

long before the finale’.

Day 8 of NaPoMo (a poem a day in April for National POetry Month.)


Throw Back

Pass her the tip jar,
to put in two cents
as if anyone listens to a long-winded poet
who dreams in alliteration
while notes play their way into pillowcases;
pieces of mind falling by the waste side,
because no one gazes at stars anymore
or jealous moons without an agenda.
The only picture she kept
from last summer’s vacation
was the unshaven guy on the corner
singing his heart out to an ex life
beside an open mandolin case.