There’s something romantic about bees.

Mostly how they sting.

How they pierce the skin with this tiny, venomous

Black needle and know as they fly away,

Their stinger ripping out of them,

That they will surely die.

They know that it’s their last resort,

They just don’t care.

To protect their hive,

Their Queen,

These peasant bees would give their life.

And for a Queen who doesn’t care

To recognize their existence in the first.

There’s romance there.

One sided as it may be.

To die for someone who wouldn’t know the difference.

Now we’re not bees, and if we were

Just know that I would do the same

For you.

Lava Blue

So chaos again subsides to peace;


so again can sullen eyes

be brightened.


As all great waves

these times will turn,

smooth to softly swelling froth.


Surrender to its presence,

gaze into the stormy eye,

drown in thoughts and choke

on salt within your lungs,


let it toss you in the foam and mist,

shroud you in a restless stillness,

smothering your breath

as tension heightens

with the wave.


Feel the ocean’s spray

upon your cheeks. See

the licking waves crest ever higher,

ebb to meet the wind and rain.


Fall into the water,

surround yourself in lava blue,

succumb to it and listen


as the ocean flares it’s stifled tongue,

splenetic, sharp, and surly,


and embrace the vengeance of the sea.

a bipolar ode

the weather sucks today

the sun rose sultry grey


it’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow

and i love the orange sun rays


and i hate the rain’s tears

on frosted window glass


smiling shy though the clouds,

shining bright blue sky between its teeth


trapping me in a black stone prison,

its suffocating grey walls


freeing me from misconceptions

made beneath a milky moon,


pining for the way the nothing feels,

the emptiness of winter mornings


letting me breath again with satisfaction

in the yellow pollen joy of spring.


but today’s somber sun,

tomorrow’s amber sunrise

and shrouded sky offer comfort,

and bright skies will remind me

that nothing really matters,

it’s ok that nothing’s ever perfect,

the clouds will always linger,

but there will always be another golden morning.

A Criminal Mind

Sit alone in darkness-


Who is that behind the door?

A motor revving just outside-

Be still-

A boot upon the floor.

Clomping, heavy, up the steps,

Metal clinking with each step-

Closer, closer-

Sneak and hide.

Make no noise, you might survive.

A deadbolt’s thump,

A creaking door-

Dead silence in the shadows thrive.

You take a breath- too loud,

He heard you.

Faster, now, the feet approaching-

A darkness halts before your hold.

A knee bends down-

A face appears, smiles slow:

“I see you there”

He whispers, low.



You were fresh in winter,

when lifelessness blossomed in snow and ice.

When twisted trunks of barren trees crushed

flowers, grey and dull, frozen in the soil.



You were burning in spring,

when the world woke up from slumber.

When trees began new life, fresh and lush,

flowers, budding, young, emerged from dirt.



You were bright in summer,

when everything was hot and yellow.

When trees grew tall and strong,

flowers, vibrant, bold, bloomed in full.



You were different in the fall,

when bitter winds began to form.

When fires burned on tree tops,

Flowers, still softly colored, wilted gracefully


in submission to the

cycle that controls us all-

even the mighty fall to the

delicate decay of life.

Crystallized Ginger and Fishy Kisses

Your tangled ginger hair

– crystaled by the moonlight bright-

A pair of ice blue eyes

-shining like the stars, so light-

Your rosy lips just brushing mine

-sugared, as a candied pear-

Reflections in the fountain shine

-frosted by the midnight air-

Nose to nose, eyes closed, we kiss

-thrilling, yes, but not a scare.