A Frozen Sonnet

When limbs of desire speak aloud elder

The crying wolf screams inside a shelter.

While hearts employ a certain reaction

When seduced word leave infatuations


In the comfort of time we rely upon

A circle of love suggest we live on

Perhaps as sun streaked skies radiant now

Will lives inherent in time speak of how.


Closely drawn is the passion to embrace

A responsive outlook on love’s dear Grace.

Try in earnest; recognize ageless time

For beauty in solace truly sublime.


I walked away abandoned fearful mind

Gentle tug of apprehension, remind.


The Satisfying Poet

The one that rhymes,

cadence happy fellow.

when forever seems attractive,

a silent dawn really quiet,

a mountaintop filled with glorified promise,

a valley below that suggested,

a passing fancy drawn

by a river of gold.


We can believe

our hearts are sold

to the highest progression

of internal rhyme,

the ability for our soul

to be penetrated by syntax;

affection, passion,

a sordid list of precarious

descriptors all seemingly

driven by the power

of an opportunist spilling



I once knew a gentleman

who rhymed a silly song,

and when I tried to dig deeper,

unleashed a fleshy wound

of hypocritical malice,

my words were not well received.


I complained,

the world heard my voice

alter its tone,

suggest an otherwise,

once again,

there was little needed

in the realm of life-changing



I wonder sometimes,

if there ever really has been

a time we could all

agree in verse,

trade our wholesale value

for the sake of

listening to the one,

the place holder

that began our journey



Sometime we might be asked

to let go of a fear,

allow it to fester,

like a Hughes memorial

to growing up in hatred,

only to live our lives,

the way we wanted to

if only,

just if we could maybe,

believe we might,

for only a couple of hours.

On the Heels of Despair

I won’t let you have me,

scathing, salacious, seething

reality of discontent.

I watch you build momentum,

spiraling, sensation of insidious

energy that buries my soul.

Buries my being,

desire to respond,

leaves my mind yearning,

to find some reason,

some virtue that suggests,

just why we reconcile ourselves,

when only desire we glean.

Why when quiet

in the evening sun,

reflective reckoning,

that silent pause,

tells our hearts to evolve.

Learn to recognize pain

for the conduit nature,

certainty in the eyes of a tear.

We will walk faster through the tendrils

that scratch our skin with jealousy.

The Gathering Mist – A Sonnet a Day


Shrouds veil our rise within the morning’s mist,

like pure raindrops suspended in cool air

we are reminded certain moments missed

will walk our day, must we believe it fair?

The mind, a wandering vessel of hope

battles sea worthy giants of despair

with each walk, we tangle a fierce strung rope

that clings to every fiber; hanging there.

We want to believe our hearts are so true

to love, to have compassion, a spirit

in happiness can achieve such sky blue

authority upon our angst’s regret.

With human dignity we walk in shrouds

of mediocrity whilst He sweeps clouds

Emotional Rescue’s Despair

See the other day

My emotions spoke loudly

Wreaking havoc

Every motion of resolve

Enveloped my heart

A friend described the feeling quite well

‘not being able to see beyond your nose’

Every moment

Racing against another

Without hope or new ideas


I could only ride the crest

Like a boarder on the San Juan rip-tide

Willing to be tossed about

Just barely afloat

Finding stability seconds

Before the next crest

With no end in sight

A simple


Retelling of a similar story.


Life can be so rocky

When we allow crisis

To become the fueling

Of an emotional coaster

We make a choice

To recognize our reflective


Or feed the human condition

Feed the unbridled abandon

Feel the despair


When does the rescue in our lives begin?

Before or after a good cry stems the tide.

Silent Walls

Silent Walls

Familiar and sad are the moments
When we decide upon our dreams
Rests just out of our reach
Just out of our reach
Out of our reach
Of our reach
Our reach seems to be next to us
A physical response is a flat echo
Descending into a darkness
Some might call it a black hole
Might call it a black hole
Call it a black hole
A black hole is a wandering fury
Silent is the moment of reckoning
When all we ask is beyond words
Recognition remains resilient
In our quest to define ourselves
Our quest to define ourselves
Quest to define ourselves
To define ourselves

Question ourselves more and we dive deeper
Swimming in despair, in a wise wishing well