What a Beautiful Day

What a beautiful spring day this is

on this mild winter noon,

the grass withered yet triumphant

peeks out from the fast retreating snow.

Even the gray stays away

as a lone bird tests its lungs,

carried by the breeze and singing,

“What a beautiful winter day,

oh, what a beautiful day!”


After All This Time

The lowest-flying dreams

bounce back off the atmosphere

into the vastness of space,

on course for collision

with everything in the universe.

I try to live in the moment

absent of such fanciful dreams

but I can’t help but smile

when I hold you close–

there’s stardust

in your touch.


Lost In the Lines

I never could draw within the lines,

my hands held the colors

too heavily

or they just weren’t steady enough,

impatient even.

But you,

you have drawn a world

I love to visit,

a world of bright colors

and shades and hues

that I can’t help but get lost in,

hoping that I can stay hidden

within those lines

for as long as I can.

It’s meticulous and mysterious

but as familiar

as the morning air.

It’s your art. It’s your words.

It’s you.


That Smile

No, not hers

though I had never seen her glow

like that

nor had I seen her float on air . . .

it was his smile, a dear friend

trapped in the ugly snares

of this vale of tears

and he smiles

with her.

That boy would find ten pounds of goodness

in a five-pound sack labeled “bad”

but he would not

keep any for himself.

My friend–and her too–here’s to you

and the many, many

good and happy years


Be well, be good,

stay blessed

in Him

who brought you together.


Waiting, Wanting, Needing

She dances gracefully

on the wisps

of non-existent memories

in my heart,

spurred on by music box melodies

of songs yet to be written.

I want and I beg

for her to leave,

to trod on the worn-out

welcome mat

on her way out,

but the thought of her leaving

hurts me in another, yet familiar, way.

My head bobs,

my foot taps.

Some pollution of ignorance

still travels through

my veins.

It wants her to go


I need her

to stay.


Breaking the Ice

It’s not that I don’t care

but that

even the languages

we all share in these poetic words

are delicate mirrors

into ourselves and others–

it serves a purpose, let’s us see within,

but it’s imperfect, not quite accurate,

and the slightest disturbance

can shatter it into deadly shards.

It’s not that I don’t care

but that

I get excited to share my imperfect words

and break the thin ice instead.


One More Chapter

You hid between the lines

of an open book, a quick read

yet one which requires time

and patience to begin

to understand.

Such writing once frustrated me

but each new line

my eyes trace over

fills me with awe and wonder.

It’s something new, different, nice.

You’re a new story

hid in plain sight of the classics

and I can do little else

unless I read one more chapter.