poetry

train rides

train rides

hitchhiking to these, my forgotten spaces

thumbs up to the clouds waiting for the train to catch that wind

the bell tolls silently so to those who listen

to those with no fear of letting go

i cradle my bag, my makeshift courage kit

to wander now needlessly to where the leaves blow, where they seem i shall fit

always the backseat traveler i still shan’t take the helm

for it not my eyes that lead, but my heart that swells

i follow where it takes me, perhaps to dead end roads

pulling out my kit with compass to direct me as best it knows

ye of little faith, the reclusive voice no more

for those journeys once forgotten i now ready the score

days absent of sunlight, of curtains drawn

now places me on this train, piercing through dusty windows all those what ifs now gone

IrisU2

I photographed this image along the Blue Ridge Parkway, Milepost 34. I categorized it within my abandoned photography as what you see here is the remnants of an old logging railroad. Although it is abandoned it is not forgotten and is visited quite frequently among hikers and travelers alike and offers a serene, picturesque moment to step back in time. Thank you for reading. For more of my nature and abandoned photography please visit my gallery here.

 

Listen to me read Train Rides 

 

Daffodils by William Wordsworth: A Spoken Word Poem

Daffodils by William Wordsworth: A Spoken Word Poem

 William Wordsworth was an English romantic  poet who helped launch the Romantic Age in English literature. His piece, Daffodils also known as I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud, is a piece I adore. Won’t you go on the journey with me a I read, The Daffodils.

haunted

haunted

there is this haunting in me

chasing the grain of rhapsody

in midnight swells of ardor

beseeching to the stars to lay hold of my shadow

longing for a taste of your burn again

there is this haunting in me

waning with the young moon

beneath a wild vermouth,

spilt from uninspired lips

in crescent fall

longing to breathe you in again

there is this haunting in me

floating in the velvet dust of night

my spirit aloft far longer than odysseus

with wings a flutter, unrelenting

wistful for the fertile kiss of earth

longing to be whole in you again

there is this haunting in me

among days of translucent gravity

weighted to this diaphanous storm

thundering in a ghostly compass

yet a voice remains

echoing there

high above the ancients dressed in their robes of green

saturating the roof of a tin heart

just wanting to find my love again

Lullaby-Enzalla

just breathe

Listen to me read Haunted

lotus

lotus

 

in daily baths of melancholy

with no grand speed ascending

from caverns carved by nature’s creed

through muddy morsels a fairy born

a blushing pixie to the moon

a darkened path, unlikely guide

slow steps from its cocoon

unfurling petals as moon gods sing

the song of its mythical fate

to reach beyond those shallow graves

to cloudscapes in patient wait

Listen to me read Lotus

Journey’s End -Blackmill

During a visit to a botanical garden in North Carolina, I captured this image upon realizing that I had never seen a lotus flower in its habitat. I was mesmerized by this pond brimming with them and found myself after thirty minutes or so feet planted in the same position, daydreaming. These delicate beauties are born with magic and it floats to the surface with them. The aura of tranquility they emit for those that take the time to truly see their beauty and the resilience of their survival, simply put, is breathtaking.

To view more of my photography you may visit my Instagram page here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shall Earth No More Inspire Thee: Spoken Word, Emily Bronte

Shall Earth No More Inspire Thee: Spoken Word, Emily Bronte

I fell in love with the worlds the Bronte sisters painted in my youth. Emily Bronte however easily became a favorite with her poetry and I have found myself decades later still turning to her words on those days when inspiration fails me or simply to connect again with what I found a kindred soul. Emily, best known for her first and only published novel, Wuthering Heights, was an unheard poetess until after her death. Her collection that includes works from both Charlotte and Anne is a collection I’ll forever hold close to my heart. I hope you enjoy my reading of Shall Earth No More Inspire Thee and if you’d like, subscribe to my channel to hear more readings from my favorite poets as well as my own words.

sanctum

sanctum

beneath our tree

where my lungs come back to me

for it is there

among borrowed ears

the cadence of you,

of i

falls freely

beneath blooming arms, those towering magic wands

those leaves, an artistic blend of hues

lent by the color of our words

birthed from our woes, our joys

now drip dropping in tiny doses

a repertoire of moments

gifts caressed from our swollen lips

beneath this our found sanctum

a secret place, a perfect hiding spot

where treasured scribing

and whispers in the wind

hold a love affair in soft reverie

infused within the veins of its hollow

beyond distances they traveled

weathered testaments of time

reaching for the sun

how they glow

how it flows

upwards

outwards

reflecting within

beneath our tree

where my lungs come back to me

Listen to me read Sanctum