Confetti from a cannon, at close range, and not close enough, I think as I gather the oh-so-much of it with my fingertips and draw the much nearer until there’s no distance anymore and any more would be more than I deserve.

Is It Poetry

How can it be, the hour's calm
Despite all that is happening here
The beat of the world
Foreboding and loud
Yet the chickadee sings its sweet note?

Wherefore the whims of the wind
At ev'ry map dot, it seems
Churning, marching
Fanning the pain
While the porch chime resonates fine?

What of the flames that burn so
Blue, yellow, orange, then to red
Smoke-filled eyes from the North
Westward heart deeply charred
As the core of your Earth sleeps content?

Dream-like State

I hope you continue crazy
You must, I say, you must!
I dare you to follow The truth
For if you don't, you'll rust.
Beneath you, keep your wheels turning
The traction of you inspires.
We need you, us dreamers
Yes, you!
Lest others snub out our fires.


A circuit broken
It must be
For I am funny
Please hear me

A heartstring missing
Within you
Why does my beauty
Fault your view

A shallow moment
You indulged
Became a chasm
That engulfed

A too-late goodbye
As you wish
But in my memory
Our first kiss


The other side of a window
There must be smoke
Smell of it!
Midnight, late night smoke
Biding its time
Considering hiding the fire
Not thinking we keep careful watch
Will it expect
Our reach through the screen
Our grasp, when we rip out its heart?


I have been fire 
Blazing at life

I have been metal

I have been anvil
Stalwart and staid

I have been hammer

What now remains
What more to be

When then will I feel

Fissures apparent 
Brittle, breaking

Blacksmith have mercy
Be kind 


That Winter and Spring 

That glorious Summer

Those Days!

When I, with wings on my feet

And fire in my belly

Strode contented nonetheless 

Though My Best Friend

Walked ahead sniffing and pulling 

Whimpering, barking and biting

That Fall