Wednesday, December 15, 2010


Oh how I love your unguarded, sweet soul!
An untended garden abloom
'Midst the tall shading trees,
A pool of clear water in
Dry desert sand.
You are my comfort,
My refuge, my joy.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

On the Plane to Arizona

I went to visit some friends over Thanksgiving, and, as is typical, being above the clouds sparked creativity (as well as napping).

Brown and blue and white
The land extends,
The crumpled earth
Outspread below
Just like a comfy sweater.
And in the distance,
Dressed in chalk-dust clouds
Call out
In rumbling, heart-waking

Saturday, November 27, 2010


This poem is for my brother, in case you couldn't tell. It's funny; I can still remember lifting him up so that he could turn on the light in the hallway, back when neither of us was tall enough to reach on our own. I remember the times that I did wrong by him, and the times that he did wrong by me. But through it all we stuck together, and anytime there's trouble or hardship, I know that he's there, a shoulder to stand by or cry on. So this poem's for you, my brother. Of all my brothers, by blood or friendship, you are the highest and first. Just wanted you to know.

Terrible, wonderful, beautiful,
He’s half of my heart;
Someone I want to protect,
To fight alongside, and to

I lean on him;
He brightens the
Darkness by
Wisdom and wit.
Bent down with my
Cares and regrets,
Without hesitation he
Helps me to carry
Them all.

It’s then that I realize
That holding him,
He holds me

We are not just

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Perpetual Motion

For this poem there wasn't so much of the typical process of trying to write, then realizing that I wasn't saying what I meant, and trying again. Basically, this one went from observation to page in a few minutes. That doesn't happen often, but when it does it's a "unique" experience, for lack of a better word. It's like you were supposed to write what you wrote. You don't feel so much like you're writing a poem. It's more like you're just talking, just breathing, just...being. It feels natural, is what I'm trying to say. But enough of this intro. Here's the poem.

The breeze ran on
Behind the bright red car,
And as he passed, the
Fresh-mown grass and
New-fallen leaves
Leapt up and
Shouted out
Then dropped again
To whisper among
For was he not a fool
Who chased forever
One who fled
From his embrace?

Thursday, October 28, 2010

My Sister

Recently (okay, a few hours ago), while I was surfing the web instead of studying, like the responsible student that I sometimes pretend to be, or sleeping, like normal people do, I stumbled across an interesting site called The Frisky, where I read an article entitled What My Sister Taught Me. It touched my heart, and it made me feel terribly homesick, yet simultaneously content. It reminded me how deeply I love my sisters, and how much they love me in return. And when that kind of thing happens, well, a poem isn't usually far off. So this one's for my sisters, Antonia, Maria, Elena and Rosa (plus the "adopted" ones), and for everybody else's sisters too. You gals are incredible, and I thank God for you.

A sister’s a friend and an ally,
And someone who stomps on your foot.
She’ll laugh at you, poke at you,
Smile her sweet smile                          
And you’ll love her with all of your heart.
No matter if older or younger, bigger or smaller;
You look out for her,
See things she doesn’t,
And land a hard punch on the guy
Who bad-mouths or creeps
On your sis.
Because easy or hard times
Your blood is the same,
And through all the pain and the boring and difference,
A sister’s a sister,
A treasure’s a treasure,
And who would I be to distinguish the two?

Wednesday, September 29, 2010


The question of identity came up in a class that I'm taking, and it got me thinking. And when I think about something, it helps me to write about it. Hence, a poem.

Product of chance,
Creation of God,
Fashioned by place,
Defined from within?
Who can give you what's yours?
Who can say who you are?
Are you artist or clay?
Where does their influence stop
And your choices begin?

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Where Does Youth Go?

I rediscovered this poem today. I don't remember quite when I wrote it, or why I haven't already posted it on here, because when I found it again I realized that I really like it. Hopefully you will too.

Where does youth go when it leaves?
Age is a creeping and steady corruption,
Escaped by none
Despite all our grasping
At all that we are,
That we were,
That we see slip away.
Or one day awake
And truly, then, see
And regret.
For what’s to be done
When it’s gone?
And where does youth go when it leaves?

Thursday, September 9, 2010

A Lover's Gaze

Lame as it sounds, I seem to have inspired myself with that last post. Nonetheless, I really like this poem. Hopefully you will as well.

He looked at her,
He looked at her,
And saw in her
The world.
Her skin was smooth as sea-swept stones,
Her teeth as white as fallen snow,
Her eyes, her eyes,
As bright as the sun,
As piercing as its light,
And warm.
Her hands as gentle as May's soft winds,
Her hair as sparkling as the sea.
And though her beauty put her far
From his unworthy clay
As stars from earth,
He loved her.

She looked at him,
She looked at him,
And saw in him
The world.
His frame was strong as summer's storm,
His skin all browned by sunlight,
Brown as earth,
His eyes like fire and water at once:
Bright and burning,
Calm and deep.
His hands as rough as sand,
As tender as spring's first stems.
And though his power put him far
From her unworthy bones
As night from day,
She loved him.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Love's Occupation

Love should have no cares but gazing,
Gazing, gazing deep
Into the eyes and, therefore, soul
Of the Beloved,
And have no satisfaction
But to see therein
Its own reflection.

How Would I Love You?

I realize that my absence has been long, and I will no more attempt to excuse myself than I will attempt to fly. I will merely pick up more or less where I left off, and try to continue posting with the frequency I desire.

My Darling, Dear,
I won't try lines to win you over,
Unbegotten words from wits as dull and slow
As tar.
Instead, I'll tell you what I'd do
If you were mine
And let you figure out,
Think for yourself,
Whether the chance would be
To put yourself inside these arms.
Now what would I do, if you were mine?
I'd wrap you up in love so deep
The sea would look and keep on looking down.
I'd dance with you a dance so sweet
The room would stop and watch and weep.
I'd kiss you strong and clear and tender
As the morning light,
And the sun himself would blush and hide
Behind a cloud.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Sit and Watch and Know

Well, since my absence has been so long, I might as well share this one too. I'm not 100% certain that it's done, but here you go anyway, you swirling vortex of cyberspace.

Sit and watch the cornfields grow.
See their hands reach out for life,
Watch the earth give birth to green.

Lie and watch the clouds above,
Feel the sunshine warm your face.
Fill your lungs with breezes cool,
That skip through fields
And swing through trees.

Feel the earth spin tip-toe
'Round the sun.
Watch as morning blue gives way to n ight.
Catch the first star's flick'ring light,
Free to shine now
Sun's bright beams are tucked away
Beneath horizon's ever changing line.

Watch the changeless constellations form,
their glittering glow from ages past
Still calls to  mind eternity.

Sit and watch the world around you breathe.
Feel the heartbeat of the seasons,
The rhythm of the day-to-day.

Stand, and feel your heart beat strong.
Stand, and know how good it is
To be alive.


So I realize that it's terribly overdue, but since this is mostly for my benefit rather than yours (at least I tell myself that most of the time), I'm not overly worried. But that is unimportant. What is important is that I now post my poem and have done with this nonsense.

Eyelids fall, ensaring mind
In tangled, coiling tempests,
Sometimes leading on to deeper dark
Than lightless night,
Sometimes speaking words
We're scared to say ourselves,
Or filled with madness,
Silly, pointless motion.
But light or dark or in between,
Day's bright spears will
Break Sleep's shroud of dreams,
Awaking mind to daily duty's call,
Where mind finds solace or regret
From where it's been,
If Memory's nets do capture dreams.

Friday, May 7, 2010

Trying to Remember

I realize that this post is horribly late, but I've been horribly busy. And on top of everything, I was working on another poem, which will not appear here, and which I hope my mother will enjoy. Anyway, I still haven't had time to finish the poem I've been wanting to post on here, so here's something older (though still new to the blog). Enjoy!

Before me my memory's doorway stands closed,
Sealed like the heart of the sun from my sight.
This door has not chinks in its armor,  no knot
Into which I might peer so to see what I've seen,
Revisit the lands I've forgot.
And surely beyond it my first heartbeat lies,
The first time I looked into mother's sweet eyes,
Or first felt the safety of father's strong arms.
And maybe, beyond it lays something more precious,
A thing that gives strength and strikes fear
For it shakes the foundation of each thing that is.
Yes, somewhere beyond this door's obstinate stance
Is the voice of my Maker.
Breathing His breath - a bright spark from His heart -
Into this vessel of clay.
Yet memory's fickle, and some of its secrets
It jealously guards, lest our faltering faith
Should be rendered impotent.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

How You Are Everything

By the way, I feel like I should apologize about not writing sooner, though at this point in time this apology is directed mainly at myself. Be that as it may, I had a case of Writer's Block, and seemed to be unable to write anything of worth. Then these two poems happened, and so we'll see where I go from here.

The ocean pretends to have
Given your eyes its own shade,
But Neptune can't show
Their sweet smile.
My coffee, meanwhile,
Attempts a rude farce
Of your hair.
But nothing shares quite the same lustre.
A girl there walks somewhat like you,
One flicks her hair quite like you do,
One sneezes like you.
And there, the audacity!
A sweater like yours
Is shown off by another,
The green one you wore on that night
At the beach.
We made castles by moonlight,
Raced waves by the moonlight,
Kissed once by the moonlight.
You see now, that
Everything's you when you're gone.
I see you in all
While yet nothing is you.
For nothing is you except you.


Everyone writes about love. They sing about it, dance about it, search for it. It's a fascinating subject, after all. It's something that gives the entire human race some common ground, 'cause come on! Who hasn't loved someone? So here is my own consideration of everyone's favorite muse, though I doubt that it will be the last.

Love is a being so strange
That it's hard to conceive
By this earth-soiled mind in my head.
How can one whose mere breath
I should worship
Long to make me adjacent her heart?
Disregarding all norms
My heart beats a sweet hymn
Responding to hers,
A battle-charge leading me
Into her arms.
Yet on my swift darkening way
My strength might be lost;
I might halt;
I might die.
But Love makes a bond
That refutes Death's embrace,
Calls me back from the dead,
Back to Love.
For Love makes a Phoenix of me,
And the ashes of Death will prove fertile. 

Friday, April 9, 2010

A Constellation of Words

Sad as it may sound, I have composed a poem inspired by my own blog title. Lame, I know, but it turned out surprisingly well, if I do say so myself (and I do).

My mind is a dimly lit cavern,
My thoughts stumble 'round in the dark.
My eyes upward look to the ceiling
And see through the cracks
Constellations of words that aren't words.
They flicker and glow in the vault
As they gaze at my stumbling thoughts,
Beings beyond mind's or voice's weak grasp,
Glistening, glowing and gleaming.

Then, like a net-bearing child pursuing
A butterfly mild, enchanting,
I reach for the stars
With my words.
And yet they persist their celestial dance,
Refuse to be sullied
By my poor mortal hands.
I call this one "Love," that one "Honor,"
This "Beauty," that "Justice."
They're many, yet one,
Inexplicably so.
Always they slip through my net.
For how can my words, simple words,
Contain wholly such wonders?
Why, after all, should mere words
Be so strong?
For all words are products of men
Who are broken,
 And so they are broken as well.

Thus often I sit,
Watch them flicker and fly
'Cross the taciturn sky,
Unchanging, eternal,
Perpetual puzzles
Enchanting my world-weary eyes.

Looking for Rest

I don't really know where my poems come from sometimes. Of course, there are times when I'm looking around, see something beautiful and say to myself, "Hey, I want to write about that," or something along those strikingly unique lines. In this case, however, I think I was just tired, but had little desire to sleep, and so I put pen to paper and started wondering about sleep itself...

Sleep is a comfort.
She comes like a feather
That falls from the sky.
She's a mother
Embracing her surrogate children,
Soft striving to shield them from pain,
Or at least dull the bite
Of the real.

But like a mad nursemaid,
She smothers with care,
Gives poison in medicine's stead.
For dreams are not always escapes,
But sometimes prove dungeons
Till thrice blessed daylight
Or morning's routine
Breaks her chains.

Yet is this new dark
Any better?

But then I lean over,
Hand out
And I feel the thump-thump of love's heart,
See her stir
Feel the touch of her smile on my soul.
It's then that I know that I love and am loved,
And that waking or sleeping,
Love holds me always.

Sunday, April 4, 2010


Just a short introductory statement (I'll try not to be tiresome):

I mean this blog to be a place where I can post my poetry, a chance to let others take a look at the world through my eyes, perhaps gaining some exposure to the public (that's you) in the process. That means, of course, that I appreciate any comments you deign to leave me. I'll try to update at least every week, so check back often! God bless.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

I went flying on a plane recently, and as we started to taxi down the take-off strip I got an idea for a poem.


We hurtle towards a wall of clouds,
Pretending to be substantial.
Then leap and roar,
And venture forth into the sky.
Bumping shoulders with a flock of currents,
Soon we level,
The clouds' fortation conquered,
Now below us,
As we soar.