Prose Poem #1

As I pen this piece, I’ve everything to lose, I’ve much to gain.

Seems to me, lately, life’s not about being sure, but instead, life is about being who you are. And, most importantly, it’s about being certain of whom will be there for you when all seems like a heartless, desolate oblivion.

This is never ceasing gospel that prevents ghastly, ghostly, and lonesome regret.

Disdain remains in absentia. More or less kind and plain, I feel less lame, i feel less insane.
Taciturn and in pain, I reside at home from the holidays, writing to unwind with kind hearted warmth.

Still though, I feel so afraid.

Blissful and derelict
Hearts careen the city streets,
Oh young American love.
And its never-unravelling feats.

Me kissing tears off her face and her whispering angelic-apologetics
I teem with admiration and adoration for a woman
Whom admires everyone she meets.

Beyond yesterday’s world, today sparkles like glitter in the sense that it shall remain for quite some time.
Today’s wonder all too often undermined.

Life’s about the thoughts that stick, the things that make the clock happily tic’, and the poet’s shtick.

Alas! I miss playing her teeth like a xylophone!

Sure, she’s not my wife. But she’s indubitably an integral part of my 2017 life.

She has dirty blonde hair and pretty white teeth.
Her emerald ocean eyes glisten like the arboreal reef
And change into auroras when she experiences grief.

Hope my attitude won’t be proclaimed too long overdue.
There’s much to revere, much to laud, and many sins to exalt, for between me and you, solitude is more of a isolationist prison.

What of all the false starts? Are they merely an all too common tragedy of broken hearts?
Truth is, I am pretty new to relationships, which is pretty strange since I am rapidly approaching twenty-four.

Yet, I am not so stupid as to just walk away from the woman whom makes me spirits soar well above the star sphere into a tranquil place,
a rueful space that’s truly the nearest to salvation I’ve ever known;

This hyper-inspirational feeling of infinite grace is what I see when a smile, blesses her face.

Only so much can be healed from proclaiming, “I love you.”
At least, that’s what I used to think.

As my hair is twirled, all seems fine with my girl. She rewards direction and not frustration. She causes my fits of elation.

Present during my downfalls, when nothing but tears fall,
She clearly cares and rids the air of my despairs.

I don’t know what to think anymore;
However, I do know how to believe in love from before.
I believe it can be restored to a splendiferous state of fanciful glory.

That’s the beauty of life, isn’t it? That life’s willy-nilly glory can be revised and revisited until all that remains is a beautiful love story.

She’s the I love you to my breathe lines. She is the liberation and motivation of my free verse. She is the sun of my sweetest sonnets. She is the rhythm of my heart. She is the meter and rhyme in every line.

She is the reason I am making time to love my mind.

Our hair a mess, laying together undressed, cuddling for life, kissing away the pain. Her breasts pressed upon my chest. I really hope she cares more for me than the rest. Either she does or no man has ever been more of a fool.

Founded in our hearts and rarely-seething in our minds, I have faith in the grand design of the unknown future.  Wherever it may lead, I will have learned a lesson.

And, that will always be enough for me.



Like a sun
From the heart
Of a wild lioness.

Tales of wonder
Sailed about the stars,
Heralded you
Long before you were born.

A golden time and place
rests within all of our minds.

What if this beautiful, blissful experiences are reality?
The rest… Well, the rest is chaos.  Or more appropriately,
Forgotten truths that lost meaning to a particular group.

Tonight my Dad said, “Stay hip with the times
And more importantly, stay true to your heart

So much delight.
So creatively free.

Between you and me, I always accept them…
you know, the happy thoughts.

Why? Because…

Because, I’d rather die wrong and happy than wrong and sad.

Alcoholism: A Thing of the Past

Wild, spiral colors surround and abound
Violet and blue, Green and you
A rivulet in the ocean of love

Flowing from the eyes of a beautiful
Woman on a winter’s day…
A warm body with cold hands
Big coats and tight pants

Ra’s smile overhead is so gargantuan
That I can’t bear to look directly

But instead I see its finite grandeur
Reflected off a crescent moon
In the still of black and purple sky
While the lonely individuals are howling
Mad disrupting the tranquil night.
I realize I am a wolf who has chosen

To forget the sun and die by the moon…

My Sorrows

For so long I’ve been silent about me.
I’ve never done much of anything wrong.
Truth is, all I’ve ever wanted is to belong.
All I want is respect for my family tree.

I’m the bipolar unlike everyone else.
It has been really tough keeping my head down.
Mania set in at the first undue frown.
I was playing the family instruments well.

Lost it all to alcohol.  First you take the
Then, the tincture takes you.  I’d take it back.
Sobriety’s something I’ve typically lacked.
Living in crises and shambles got old…

I want recognition for staying well

I love myself for all that I’ve ever been.

Too often besieged by oblivion,
Too much of a mood connoisseur,
To ever cease, my lambent ramblings
Are entombed in my past, but at last,
I feel right with myself and mental health.

Sonnet for Benzodiazepenes

Temporal lobe seizures.   Anxiously down.
All concomitantly subside each dose.
These medicines I am prescribed now
Is making my world go round

Nightmare-traumas have receded back to
I fear no longer the people of the world.
It is the universe that’s ours to twirl.
So let’s spin onwards into success.

Apologies for seeming emotionally absent.
Guess I had a lot to get off my mind.
I will always have a lot of unpacking to do.
We remain kind to all in one’s travels.

No greater joy than to be alive on Earth.
It birthed the breadth of being, dontch’a know?

Anti-Sonnet #3

Don’t pretend accost us because of your
How dare racists wager persons’ children…
Vicious rues all classes of family.
I’m nauseated by poorly placed hatred.
Could be wrong, but I think killing equates
Indiscretion labeled a badge of honor,
White, black, or mixed, this is bigger than us.
Quit shaming Booker T. Washington’s life.
We have come too far to go back in time.
We’ve had people threaten to murder us.
We’ve survived people trying to rape us.
Live out the consequences of being.
Treat innocent civilians with respect.
I don’t fear time won’t heal this wounded land.

Sonnet #9

Crumbled ruins and snake vines common.
Despite desperate efforts for acceptance,
Few grow to know the doubt of happenstance.
There has to be something more to life.
Deciphering hate-feels in the mirror.
I became so sad I could not even sing.
Life’s tough at twenty-three and no ring.
Discarded fate and became cheerier.
Bliss holds no prisoners, nor is bliss all
that captivating.  Free your heart. Beside
The whispering willow, meadowlarks sighed.
What’s more beautiful than color in Fall?
The Maiden has breached the iron gated castle.
Fortunately, love is not a hassle.