The Metaphorical Fog

I’ll fight my way through the darkness, finding the writer in me,

Pushing through that dense fog, vanquishing with brilliancy;

Recalling summer days, when I was brimming with potential,

And those cold winter nights, when all was uneventful

In mid-evening, I strolled along that sandy encrusted shoreline,

Heard the waves crash, the ship’s horn call in rhyme;

The beast in the distance, eyeing me with vague mystery,

Bare feet on a warm bed of proverbial hot tamales

Unable to see clearly for the light that shines on the bay,

This hark feat of nature, the thing that blocks my way;

Looking through the clouds, for thy shape that is great,

Struggling through well run dry, rolling the red tape

The great thing about writing, it’s either a half full or empty glass:

You either look to the future or stay stuck in troubled past

For much of it all, does not deal with cemented perfection;

This metaphorical fog, it’s always causing digression

I hear the seagulls cry, scattering along the endless beach,

My mind sinking in quicksand, striking with careful beats



Concrete Life


is breathing air,                 deep mahogany

earth, wind, rain,                             sweet as honey

The deer roam freely

in spite of


fearsome pursuit

While nightingale song                        on golden pond

Bluegrass swings                                                                            swinging along

And the buzzing bees                               birds and trees

Running through cornfields

Scraping your knees

And the shuffling seasons

Keep us on

Our feet

While the music is as graceful as

the moose grazing in a

field of azure

My own life  with

sleepy cats

About as quiet as the

grizzly going through glorified winter’s nap

             The threads of life                                  that mortal our existence

As real

As the moment of

First kiss:





Trust No One

Taking them seriously was only just jeering
Rising up from the ashes, I could newly see them peering
Under the moonlight, my mind began to brew
Starting to make sense of it all
Trusting no one but you

“No, I see it there, the way you stare,
Oh, I can’t just believe you, know the hurtful things you’ll do”

Only then will it begin
Nearing the light, repenting sin
Everything I’ll become, will be because I won


So basically the first verse of my poem is about not trusting anyone in this world, not even your closest friends or family, since you’ll only feel worse when something bad happens. The second verse is about being aware in a relationship since things usually never come out untarnished. And the final verse is about trusting only yourself, and a spiritual being if you may, in what you believe the most to be righteous and honest.

Loony Lonely Limerick

Just joggin’ along the junction
Feet scorched, air punchin’
Jumped a jittery thug
Who just wanted a hug
I kindly rejected
He solemnly shrugged
That was quite a dysfunction


No Fear

Ice water flows through 

Like a mighty march of men

Chills me to the bone

OK, so this isn’t my first rodeo at doing haiku or poetry for that matter, but Writing 201 serves as a way to refocus my writing of poetry, and now of course, I have learned I’ve been doing haikus basically all wrong in the recent past, not paying attention to the 5/7/5 syllable format (if that is what is said in the official poetry handbook, if there is one). Oh, well. We all learn eventually.

Basically, my haiku describes the term “ice water in your veins”, to have no fear, no pressure, to be calm, cool, and collected. A more creative interpretation could be using the haiku to describe the drain in the picture, its “bone” being the metal.