First Frost

The Scottish people may not have been big fans, but this Arizona girl found the first frost enchanting. (Until she almost slipped on ice during her run, that is.) His kiss was cold, pinking my pale face As he sucked my breath away in steaming plumes; But smooth and crystalline as spider's lace, Beneath my…

The Philanthropist

He began the fall in wealth, His arms hanging heavy with green, new-money Made in spring. It was the cash that grows on trees: Easily spent and easily made, Budded by summer and Minted by the gold-standard sun. Investing at Autumn’s asking, He lays a few leavings in her chill-bone hands But scatters the rest…

Hallow Hill

The hill was ghostly. Even before finding an old sign revealing its history as an early Christian burial site, I could sense the tension between life and death in the air that chilled my face. It was a place pulsing with potential, yet quiet and lonely as a sleeping giant. Insignificance and eternity confronted me…

Poetic Love

A year ago today I picked up a copy of Rupi Kaur's Milk and Honey in a Waterstones in Cambridge. I read it cover-to-cover without sitting and — admittedly — without purchasing it. I was intrigued, but, when I closed it and placed it back on its display, I realized that the fascination I'd felt with…

Two Bluebirds

I've been rereading Ray Bradbury's (...may he rest in peace...so sayeth we all...) Fahrenheit 451. Actually, I'm listening to it on Audible; there is a performance of it by Tim Robbins which literally makes me weep. It's THAT good. Anyway, as I revisit this all-too-prophetic story of a society so frightened by what is uncomfortable, challenging, or…

To Travel: A Sonnet

I was a stranger here yet better known Away from all I thought myself to be— Away from all routines that made me, me, I found myself in being severed grown. Away from all the people I loved best I found myself in newer company— I found my soul in this older country Away from…

On Departing

My feet pounding the pavement to the beat Of poetry that laid the cobbled street, I feel a shaking sense of bittersweet For a face I only once did meet And wind that sings its fingers through my hair Will not again its subtle secrets share, Nor will the trees and flowers for me bear…

A Poem Passed-By

That moment gone was but a spot of time Yet still I yearn towards its eternity, To find it past yet feel it presently For such moments are best realized in rhyme. But somehow this one fails to really be As full in feeling as it was before; In that one moment, not a second…