Category Archives: HowPoetic

Asunder, reasons why

I think it will be like breathing after fire


Clean entering my lungs

On second thought

perhaps more like ripping pasted papers

the stronger the glue,

the more bits that will never find their way

back to belonging.

Two hearts sit on either side


the mystery of the heavier solved

only when you uncurl your white fingers

Tell me, what kills a lily sooner –

the honest frost it collects because it is a lily and nothing else

or the warm certainty of a slow undermining,

it’s just that you could be so much more

The glue still glistens

on the shiny new petals,

he steps back and smiles

at so much less a lily






You hold me together

like the rind of a watermelon surrounds

its heart


You dry my tears

like the desert sun soaks up

lost rain


You fill me

like the ocean waves brim into

my palm

(warm, daring me to dive too)


You, sometimes, are missing

like my favorite fourth grade sweater,

belovedly absent

And I hear a voice

where your hand goes,

whispering sweethearts.

Are those the echoes of a moment

just a heartbeat past,


The Land Is Not Wasted*

I’ll stay here, thanks,
my toes content to
see only each other as
“winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow”

White washes
the pictures
in my unblinking heart,
the ones I never
showed you, especially those

January paints over
his face, her voice
melting together as the sun
forgives as it courses
through the window
I forgot to close

The door swings open
my eyes blink at the cold
of new, blank months
the fine,
lined pages of empty calendars so


I’ll come with you but,
my boots are still wet.


*Inspirational credit fully given to Mr. Eliot’s perplexing masterpiece, the first stanza especially.


I am no longer broken

i really hate the limericks

of happiness —

why must truth bring

such awful rhymes, the knife is in jam-

[I] meant this: that those

whole holes in my soul,

the pain took its toll

but now light has patched

the holes in my soul,

now whole.

the dreadful haikus

that come with healing,

now that the shards of past

have crumbled into

ashes: giving birth

phoenix, butterfly lovers

curious shoots, life

arigato, but

surely the poetry died with your new


Library of Doubts

Hello there

Have we met?

I think I’ve seen you around,

between the apologetics section

and the first time I saw him cry.

You’re more beautiful

than I remember.

Not that you’re my type, of course

No, you’re much too grey.

What will the neighbors think?


Well, see, I lost myself

somewhere between

that tear and

those encyclopedias.

No, that’s hers that sparkles –

let me know if you see

a purple, shriveled-up voice.


Excuse me, I’m looking for truth but

it seems that someone else

beat me to it.


Some slurp the entire bowl

upon first glance,

marooned throats

welcoming the ocean’s tears

Her cup of sadness

remains overbrimming,

piping hot

It sits touched

only by a wet, dripping salt

tinged with blue

She gathers a spoonful,

closes her eyes;

she walks away still


Tomorrow, another

steaming spoonful

waits for her


until curved metal

gently scrapes


A spoonful a day

is good for

the heart

Concept inspired by Ralph Fletcher’s Fig Pudding

Frosted Flakes on My Mind

Writing obliquely

when my thoughts rudely jostle

for more elbow room

at the stillness of twenty-eight minutes

past Cinderella’s bedtime;

oddly content, slightly hungry.