The Colossus

February 25, 2018

Amidst rolling hills
Of endless evergreen
Stands tall a mountain
Crowned with clouds.

She is ancient,
Long ago alive with
Sulfur smoke and
Molten earth

Now tranquil,
She lies dormant.
She’s old enough to know
The rivers’ true names.

Quietly slumbering
Above man’s progress,
She will be here long
After we’ve gone away.




February 12, 2018

Catapulting away
From our planet’s
Feeble grasp on you,
The endless blanket
Of the universe as
We know it lies ahead.
It isn’t heavy with fear,
But instead it is
As you have become
During your escape.
The swirling cosmos
Are your home now.

Passing through the
Unknown palettes of
Untouched nebulae,
You explore where
Few shall ever go.
Between the mazes
Of twisting asteroids,
Your path will be lit
By the glow of stars
Who died eons ago.
And even when you’ve
Passed beyond all the
Worlds and galaxies,
Even then I’ll love you.



January 22, 2018

Peering down
Into the blue,
I lean forward
Letting gravity
Take over.

As the light fades
At lower depths,
The pressure is
I strain my ears
To hear the sound
Of waves above.

I may speak the
Tongues of whales
But when I listen
To voices among
The tide pools,
Their messages
Are always lost.

With each layer
Of ocean that I
Pass through on
My path into the
Endless abyss,
My eyes gaze in
Both wonder and
Horror at what
Travels here
Down below.



January 5, 2018

I think
On some level
We all wonder
Who our parents were
Before we were there.
As people, as humans,
What were they really
Like before waking up
To midnight cries and
Childhood desires?

If things had been
Who would they have
Grown to love?
Possibilities branch off
Into a million places
But the person remains
The same choices,
The same decisions made.
Which begs the question:
Would I be the same?

We are told that
Life is cyclical,
Orbiting ourselves in
Concentric circles as
We slowly become
Mirages of them.
If they are still here,
I suppose, then so am I.


A lot of big things happened last year. Not nearly all of them bad, but not all of them good either.

One of the relatively small changes was my official end of my New Year’s resolutions posts. I sat there, on New Year’s Eve, wondering what kind of things I wanted to accomplish and looking back at how 2017 had been. And, for the life of me, I could not see clearly the way to move forward. This tradition started for me about a decade ago, back in the days of Myspace (yes, that’s how old this is) and I just wanted to take a break from the poetry and reflect. What it became was a vain attempt at proving that I’m still “doing things” and moving forward in life.

I don’t think I have the capacity to do that anymore.

This doesn’t mean that I won’t be continuing to write poetry (I’m about to post a new poem after I finish this post, as a matter of fact) nor that I don’t think I should take time to reflect. But if I am honest with myself, these resolutions aren’t doing their job.

I haven’t spent time returning to these posts to think about it, or make plans to accomplish even one of the goals I had set for myself. Even coming back to them the following New Year’s Eve, I felt like I would just be making excuses, not actually doing something. It was too vague, and I meant it to be so. Thus, I’m going to stop.

In a way, this is entirely refreshing. I’m in my thirties now, I have to wisely spend the spiritual currency life has dispensed to me. So I sit here, looking back at the dumpster fire that was the year 2017, and I think “Well, it can’t very much get a whole lot worse.” And then I quickly knock on wood somewhere.

Stay tuned for more poetry, and thanks to those of you who have been here all along. Onwards and upwards, friends.



October 28, 2017

For a nation born in
Protest and fire, we
Tend to ignore all of
The impossible beauty
Of our promised land.

The muted reds
Of canyons wide,
Or the melodies of
A fiddle at sunset.
The silence of the
Extinct wild buffalo,
Or the shifting lanes
Of corn farmer’s gold.
Our country stands
Atop whiskey barrels
And picket fences.

Not all memories are
Pleasant ones, though
Still they have value.
Our past is mired in the
Coppery tang of blood
Spilled without cause,
Of gunpowder clouds
And the quiet wail of
Lost sons and daughters.

Our liberty is man-made,
The true wealth here
Lies in the soil and the
Spirits who have long
Since fallen away.


Nature’s Fury

October 4, 2017

Our planet sways,
Twirling madly around
The glowing orb of light
We have called the sun;
And here we call home.

Water and air and soil
Compromise in space to
Allow us purchase here,
And we do so very little
To thank Mother Nature.

Despite many hazards,
We leave forests empty
And seas spoiled abroad.
We ignore the warnings
Hiding in tree rings and
Long forgotten stones.

Buried like seeds, they
Rest not in peace but in
Wait for the right time
And the right season.

Only then will they rise.
Sprouts among giants but
Strong as an alder bough,
Ready to form in tandem
The eaves of this church
We now worship within.