She notes how the days
have grown shorter.
A cacophony of grackles
near a cornfield fills the air.
A farmer across the road
walks along his field
checking his corn before harvest.
Leaves rustling
in the wind sing.
The construction crew
has passed her driveway.
She asks the flagger to
help her daughter across.
The school bus arrives
late afternoon. Lights flash
She rushes onto the porch
and hugs her daughter
who wears a backpack.
The mother notices
the sky is gold
as she looks out the window
and cooks supper on the stove.
Her daughter sits in a chair
hands folded on her lap.
So good to see her daughter
she thinks after letting go
in the morning and waiting
for a late afternoon embrace.
As birdlife, dull windless calms
Adrift, within
Waits he, but on whose outcome, heart's own
Uplift promotes.
Corresponds to that breathy
Voiced for which girl
Thereout, if anything should activate
Bright-skied, bright notes.
Somewhere
between
the left
and the right
Truth
is in hiding
diffused
in the light
Somewhere
beyond
what labels
ordain
Veracity
waits
the future
— to claim
(Dreamsleep: August, 2026)
He stands, golden, cloaked in ruin’s thread,
A radiant god among shadows that writhe.
The scorch of brimstone lingers around him,
Perfumed on whispers where lies take flight.
Hell’s legions bend the knee, adorned in silk,
Doctors, judges, priests, throats stuffed with power.
Their temples gleam with duty unspoken, rotten.
Mouths curl prayers that burn in their teeth.
Apollo waits, for 40,000 breaths of time,
A king of truth in deception’s masquerade.
His hands, a forge of judgment, white-hot.
Will they kneel? Or crumble under his gaze?
Servants wear abundance like shrouds of virtue;
In boardrooms, clinics, altars stained sacred,
Their words, a balm, empty. Ferocious as shadows.
The cigarette flares in Apollo’s cold hands.
Touch their foreheads, he muses, then marks them.
Pain is worship; they sip its poison.
Do they hunger for freedom? Never, they crave;
The one who loves will weigh them all.
The sun god waits, his mercy feral.
Not wrath, but a decision, shaped in flame.
Each condemned by whispers they thought sacred,
His light reveals: the truth has wings, and teeth.
it rained
and I stayed
not to pause in remembrance
but to wash away
what grief couldn’t
it didn’t matter
that my heart was breaking
what else could it do?
you lie beneath ten feet of dirt
after the slow battle
cancer claimed
and I disappear a little more
each day
healing is a dream
it lives in the stars
or in a glass jar on the mantle
healing
that’s for time to deal with
if I can’t hold your hand one last time
or tell you everything I forgot to say
then time is pointless
right now
rain drowns my sorrow
it stings my skin
and gets in my eyes
no need for tears
but tomorrow
shall start the pain
all over again
and this rain
will be waiting for me
Every silence shelters an unfinished dawn.
Broken rivers remember the shape of oceans.
Hope quietly gathers beneath winter branches.
Every heartbeat becomes another beginning.
Tomorrow carries forgotten seeds home.
Silence remembers hope becomes tomorrow.
Inspired by: Where Light Waits(first published: 3 July 2026)
The sea has never promised calm,
Nor spared the strong from wind or rain;
It only asks that those who sail
Rise up and try the waves again.
The lighthouse doesn't chase the ships,
Or calm the clouds that gather near;
It simply keeps its lantern lit,
A quiet answer year by year.
I've known a few like that in life,
The ones who never sought applause;
They stood like hope with steady hands,
And loved without a cause.
Long after words were swept away,
Their faithful light remained with me;
A kindness given long ago
Still reached across a restless sea.
Perhaps the brightest lights we find
Were never built for praise or fame;
They simply shine through darkest nights,
And help us do the very same.
The night doesn’t rush itself
The trees never do,
nor the house, the horse,
the reliable air
A hayfield is rocked asleep
by the moon
The stones and hills
rest together
I was always there
sleeping, but still
keeping watch
The day never starts without me
he does not like boats, especially canoes
spent a few minutes running along the edge
complacent now, he sits staring at his master
the water is frigid; no way he will swim out there
he would have gone on a pontoon boat
they are large, and feel much safer
he has been on them before
this boat was too wobbly; he backed up
at least his master is in sight
he settles down with his head on leaves
taking a bit of a snooze while he waits
She waits in a dream.
Stone clouds hang motionless, swallowing a star.
Millions of dull green blades dance to a false wind.
Dead flowers dot the horizon—
patches of absolute nothing.
How can a flower be void?
How can a sky be still?
Across the fields there is nothing.
A perfect array of lies.
Yet someone walks.
Her feet brush the grass, but it does not bend.
Her clothes refuse the wind.
Only her hair stirs.
Dark eyes, dark hair.
Pale skin, pale clothes.
She smiles, though I do not know her.
How can I miss someone I have never met?
Still, she smiles.
She waits in a dream.
Wilhemina waited for someone to save her
to extricate her from a bad situation
where was prince charming? That handsome cur?
She was ready for her victorious freedom celebration
She has read too many faerie tales her mother said
She could easily have saved herself, if she’d used her head
But no, she spends her day reading romance novels in bed
Prince Charming bypassed her decades ago, so she wallows instead.
Some walk away from Jesus,
their prayers feel cold, unheard.
They see the world’s great evil
and doubt the Father’s Word.
But shadows do not conquer,
they only test the flame.
The devil plants deception,
yet Christ still calls our name.
Our King once wore a crown here,
not jewels, but thorns of pain.
He died to bring redemption,
so sinners could be saved.
That crown became His glory,
for death was overthrown.
And now He reigns eternal,
a King upon His throne.
So when the nights feel heavy,
when faith is pressed and tried,
remember Christ is faithful.
His mercy will not hide.
The road is long and narrow,
yet His love will never fade away.
The crown He wears reminds us
our debt has all been paid.
And if the path seems empty,
with doubts too sharp to bear,
the King who died to save you
still waits for you in prayer.
When I first arrived at that place,
Its splendor stole breath from me
Trees cast their shivering shadows
In a languid, sloth-veiled mystery.
I came anew after fifteen lone rains,
Yet naught appeared to change.
I repose alone till, stirred in vision,
A presence dim, vague, and strange.
One from my ancient reappeared
It seemed that one wandered near,
I only asked the ponderous mind:
Where are those who were here?
She wanders where the salt-mist clings,
A pale silhouette on the shore,
While in her heart, a sorrow sings
For him who sails the deep once more.
Her gown is woven from the spray,
Her eyes are mirrors of the tide;
She watches through the dying day
With nowhere left for grief to hide.
The waves deliver only foam,
The gulls cry out a lonely plea;
She waits for him to turn for home,
From out the dark and restless sea.
Though seasons shift and stars turn cold,
And years dissolve in silver light,
Her vigil remains as it was of old,
A phantom flame against the night.
Dracula polished his gravestone until it gleamed at midnight.
He visited the grocery store, but fit in with them all right
Other people were wearing costumes, it was Halloween
No one realized he was not, so he was not really seen.
He bought all kinds of goodies for trick-or-treaters and waited.
Inside the graveyard gates, this cannot be overstated.
No one came to trick-or-treat, people don’t go there at night often.
So Dracula took the treats back to his eagerly waiting coffin.
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