My back

is strong

like a piece of bark

it has its edges

but it is stable,

it stands tall–

it is stillness

and silence

and me.


These elements

of control

have never been

my friend.


Illusive fears

of loosing

a self

that I had forged

by lack of force

the word loss–

I could write odes

to loss

and sonnets

to loss

and haikus

to loss

and I would still



in the same sentiment


Who am I?


Where do these attachments

leave me?

Where did I acquire them?


Did death bring up something

deep inside of me

that always needed healing?


An unknowingness of stability,

the entrance of doubt?


I am here, writing,


thinking back to trees with hearts

written in their sides.


October 8, 2016


It would never have worked out anyway,

you and I.



a lonely tree,

still sturdy enough

to shelter you when there was rain

my own pain present in my rings–

you wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t made you ask.



a fallen sparrow,

just looking for a place to stay

until you flew away–

your wings are meant for flying, you know.



we parted ways,

years floating by as you flew, and I grew tall–

I can see more beauty from a distance, now.


I stand my ground,

and sometimes look around

at the leaves I have spread,


onto the earth below:

expanding pain and beauty and time

giving only wisdom back

to the soil–

they are called growth rings,

after all.


This weekend, I shared some of my work at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe in NYC.  Considering I had not planned on this at all (had only expected to listen to some spoken word) it went pretty well! The experience paired with this lovely article ( inspired this poem…and for me to change things up and add a [google search provided] photograph.  Happy Monday! 



Run through

My hair

Like water

Down a river

Passing the last elm

That’s 100 years old,

Or maybe two

I can see

The flowers

But they must not

Always be blooming–

My stem opens

And closes in viens,

Blood honey

Getting stuck

With the glucose

Of my heart

If only I were that elm,

And not just chasing



July 13, 2014


Pull back

the ignition

to light the flame

some things you



others you not only can,

you must

be conscience

of your thoughts

for a wise man once told me

“Stay clear of the deer

and hunt the tree instead,

not with an ax but with a log,

sitting under its cool shade,”

I would rather be

a tree

with a whispering wind

reminding me

I cannot change time–

but I can change me.


December 16, 2014

In Me

Like a tree,

there is a poem

in me,

whispering away

until May,

covering the Earth

with mud and clay–––

filling silence

and swaying

until it turns the same gray

it was yeterday, mixed

in dust all along

shys away, like veins

they are my branches,

write traditional rhymes

to fill all of my lines

because beauty

out of nothing

is everything you see,

like time melting away,

into me.

April 19, 2014

A Lesson

How do I know

that your dreams align with mine

when the sky won’t open up

for you the same way

it used to under the mulberry tree

we’d play classes–

you: teacher one, me: teacher three

lessons on vanilla wafers,

chocolate munchkins,

and how Dr. Seuss really needed some practice

in rhetorical grammar.

My blood doesn’t move

as he inches away,

carrying “you” back to “stranger”

and “us” back to the bottom

of the trunk where “I love you”

would, one day,

be carved.

September 22, 2014