When I Cannot Breathe

There becomes a slight pang,

grows with each sense of desire

perhaps some might call it pain,

yet this speaker would suggest a small fire.

There becomes that need to understand,

yet the clock ticks its metered reality,

and the notion, the ideal, some aspect

of hope,

is filtered down again,

to a one-time solution that never satisfies.

We can sit here all day long and spout off about

success, recovery, decent appraisal of our lives today,

though the path seems clear, still we wander,

when turbulent seas settle in to the mind,

there must be some reaction, an outlet, a place

to land the angst we have so often gained control of

in the past.

Yet, I want to be here,

this present of serenity,

this presence is all I ask.

How might we figure out some way

to address the constancy of



inherent failure modeled around

a sometime human compassion.

Other time a stigma whose most powerful advocate

must be the man, the woman, child,

the benefactor of resource gone awry.

There it is then, that transference is well on its way.

Get thee to a session old man,

Get thee to a human factory of love.

If, When Again

if when

while we shop our ploys

need as we


suggest we have

find a further definition

if you ask me

I will suggest

glance across a simple blanket

a nature

a product of our

lacking involvement.


we might include

a moment,

some call it

a needed epiphany

long after we could

want to find some sacrifice

we call our own,

our discovery

when all along we were

already there –

bask in a superficial

atmosphere real-time


in case we forget

please ask again,

we might always find

a new opportunity

to sacrifice ego,

to understand we are

pervasive to a fault,

yet everywhere we

look there lies another

a sort of hidden gem,

a quiet memory,

a soft, sweet, celebration


waves. streams with piqued

sky and all around

our eyes will speak

to similar horizons.

we do want,

we always will

when even at our simplest

recollection, the world

continues to need,

we wish for those,

hope, salvation,


Rhythm and Rhyme

Much like my own twelve string, I play the words

in such a manner makes me believe I might

need a keyboard to tell my story,

give me the rhythm to generate a mood,

the rhyme to suggest a setting sublime,

we all have our own worlds we like to dream,

looked outside tonight into a moonlit sky,

as ordinary as that, nothing peculiar,

deep, distanced, decimated disorder.

I like to laugh out loud without formulating

words, like my ancestors would have

not knowing how to speak their way

out of conflict, instead ale and fists,

and broken teeth with puffy eyes,

and smiles all around afterward.

At least that’s the way Id like to believe,

the story goes while I play my keys.

Nightly Reverence – A Sonnet

© Dani Stites

© Dani Stites

When while a day goes quietly the nigh

soft hearts may ponder a delicate noon-

time pleasure. That is the moment inside

a dream slow to respond, yet urgency

calls upon a name to satisfy sweet

melody, a caress, play, we digress.

For when might anyone ask forgiveness

upon simple words, golden, a sparkle

of intent defines passing encounters.

Each streaming ray of hope dances our brows

well toward jest’s enigmatic interlude.

-patience beckons a rare emotion served-

When then we bask in the moonlight of love

we know surely, our lives are drawn above.