POETRY

from CRAVE 2: Forbidden Secrets

I remember your smell from before I knew you.
The taste of our first kiss was something I recalled, like a distant memory.
When you touch me it’s as if I’m awake for the first time
free to live all the dreams I have collected,
like finding a special stone by the river
or seeing the Sun escape from behind a cloud to illuminate your smile.
I know you now like I’ve known you before, so many times forevermore.
A different song, a different dance, but always you.
Each time I paint myself across the open expanse of your heart
and each time…

POETRY

I haven’t slept for days…

My thoughts are soft swirls of purple haze.
In the middle, a minotaur, minding a maze.
Within a labyrinth of many ways,
I rage at the mirror that reflects my gaze.

Tired torpedoes fall silently still
As attacks become naps of necessity’s thrill.
Energy arrives late, completely unfrilled;
I’ve been here before, I’m perfectly skilled.

What can be mustered when bottles run dry?
Playing with catch-up, there’s some in my eye.
I relish the chance to once again fly,
Swooping and soaring through barbequed sky.

In slumber, I’m met with endless defeat
Even to silence, I…

BOOKS

Because Print is Better Than Digital

I’ve never been a bookworm. No one would have ever accused me of that. Prolific in other arenas, perhaps, but not in the realm of reading. I always preferred writing and I liked my own stories because they were immersive. I did read, of course, just not as voraciously, say, as my wife. One day when we were in the garage, I asked her — as I peered through a great many see-through, mega-sized, plastic storage containers — if we had any books from Shakespeare. …

HUMOR | WRITING

Write something! they say.

Before we poke ya like a donkey!

I don’t even know what that means. It’s one thing to have voices in your head, another thing entirely if they’re all bonkers. This is the merry menagerie of maddened minds that I listen to, in inward reverse-stereo, in my earbrains.

As I was saying…

Writer’s block is not, in fact, a real thing. It is quite imaginary. Truly. Where does it exist or reside if not in your mind? Is it a set of eeewy-gray cinder blocks attached to your hands keeping you from writing? Is it a…

POETRY

Lyrical Poetry

I want to shine like the sun in the summer of your winter,
I want to pine in your spring, so catch me when I fall.
I want to dine on the wine of all your vines and splinters,
I want to climb up your tree, so hear me when I call.

You’ve got the right kind of love, it’s my subtle education,
You’ve got the fight of a glove, you never let me go.
You’ve got me tight in your grip, I’m losing concentration,
You’ve got the bite of my lip, now tell me what you know.

…