Category Archives: Writing

Anthology

Some stories are not meant to be long. A few words scribbled on a napkin. A name. A number.

Some stories are written in the dark, read under neon lights. A few strokes of the pen.

Some stories end before they begin.


In absentia

When you’re gone
my shoelaces come undone
I drop my keys
the kettle boils over
When you’re gone
the silk of my shirt
drags over the sore places
like the memory of teeth


Discord

Do you see it? That red glow,
low and clinging to the horizon,
unnerving in its ambiguity.
Even the stars recoil.
Oil and water, earth and sky—
I cannot reconcile them,
Embattled as they are—
Ardent and unmanned.
And so my children learn their place:
asymmetrical, the scales of power.
Were you about to argue?
You, with your injured pride?
I’d hold my tongue, if I were you.
You have nothing to fear.


In which I attempt an echo poem, which is harder than it seems. This one may have run off the rails a bit…

To a rose

The day you gave a rose to me
the sun was bright, the sky was clear.
I kept that rose another year,
despite its sweet fragility.

The sun was pale, the sky was grey
when winter brought its weight to bear.
The frost could not be swayed to spare
The rose you gave to me that day.


A memoriam stanza – well, two stanzas, really.

Kiss

If I could drink, gloriously, of the moon,
she would, I think, intoxicate me thus.


A tiny little couplet for yeah write.