Ghosts

Meet me in the haunted places

where all the others dare not tread,

hold me close and feign some feeling

that we believed the words we said.

Syllables

The sound of a syllable weeps

at the end of all of the lines,

it longs for the love that it reads,

for a good and pure heart it pines.

What faith remains at the ending

is enough and worth fighting for,

the sound of a syllable cries,

cries out “Love!” in an act of war.

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Featuring several prompts by Isha Garg.

#byishaisms

Manifest

I can’t wait on a ship that never set sail

and that will never set sail

to grace a port that sits in lonely exile.

Your love may have been love

at least for a moment

but the manifest remains

noticeably blank.

Dreamscapes

We held hands firmly, so as not to let go at all

as we watched the sun slowly set in the east.

The blue grass of the desert glistened with dew

under the light of a green sky.

The chill from the summer sun only encouraged

your fingers to interlace tighter with mine.

You leaned in to whisper, It’s all so real today.

And with a lying smile I agreed,

It’s almost real today.

Arms

Strait was singing “Stay out of my arms . . .”

but I was listening, thinking

that I can’t help that I’m wanting you there

while feeling the same.

I’m a walking contradiction–

you’re a contradiction of me.

I pray and hope and try to change

so that those better parts of me

can be given to you.

Here.

In my arms.

Shipped

My heart set sail on a paper boat

without a second thought of permanence,

the winding waters rolling

wrought it through until it was

where it longed to be.

Some say they saw it sinking low

into the runoff, a casualty of the drain,

while others say it buoyed bravely

to the bitter end.

But I know what happened

even though I could not catch its trek–

that the sails caught a second wind

and it took flight to be

in your care.

Transcript (of the Rest of Your Life)

*The following is a transcript of the rest of your life. Please read at your own discretion.*

You are reading these words.

I don’t know what happens next

but I reckon you probably

have some idea.

I’m not going to tell you what to do,

but I’ll watch the wild with wonder

and write until I can’t anymore.

So go on.

You knew you wouldn’t read it here today.

Be sure to tell the world tomorrow.

Ordinary Lives

The ordinary achieve the extraordinary

every day, their acts of love and daring

from the corners of where we train our eyes.

They’re there, believe you me. You too.

Don’t be afraid of doing too little

when you’re doing something.

Sing loud, sing a whisper, but sing on.

It’s louder than you think.

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originally posted on Instagram in October 2023

An Admission

If you were to know me

by my words and my poetry alone,

I would question if you even

knew me at all.

At the same time, I can’t imagine

that with all these words

that I presented myself

a stranger.

For a wide world and a short time

all our words form a tapestry

we will not see completed.

And strangely, if you were to know me,

you would know how moved in joy

I am about that

even if I never admitted it.

Better Strangers

I wish we were better strangers.

I wish I didn’t force myself to look at the ground,

to avert my gaze when I’m out and about

for fear of locking eyes with you.

I wish that you would finally have enough

of your games, of your sick satisfactions

and leave me alone.

I don’t wish for much, but I wish

for countless miles to come between us

and for some indication

that you’ll be alright at a distance.

But now I stare a ground that will not budge.