Dig deeper.

Free your mind.
Take some time
and dig a bit deeper
just to see what you’ll find.

Jot it down in a notebook,
or film it.
Paint it on a canvas,
or craft it.
Snap it with a camera,
or sketch a rough draft of it.
Act it out,
or sing it out.
Pluck it out
on some guitar strings,
or tap it out on some keys.

leave doubt,
an the fear of failure,


Soaring Hearts

Our hearts are soaring
higher then before and,
we swore never to go back to being grounded.

The clouds are roaring
wile we where fly’in’ round them,
weightless, and unbounded.

Wile the world was snoring,
we decided to take our flight,
and that’s when our hearts began pounding.

Our love started pouring
over top of the trees,
and everything surrounding.


Sunshine; Flower

She wore a yellow flower in her hair.
She said – ”It means nothing.”
But to a poet, everything gets paired with meaning…

Her eyes began gleaming 
at the sound of my words,
that began flowing from my mouth
in poetic explanation of how the
bright yellow flower matched her heart.

The poem I spoke; 
“How bright the petals, of yellow, glow.
The ones you placed in your hair.
They followed the same path,
and shared the same energy,
produced by your heart. 

Let it shine though!
Even if the darkness
decided to envelope you.
Swallow you.
Hold you closer then I do.

The sun is the only one 
in comparison to how magnificent your  
your soul shines.
Words are scarce to find.
I’m in awe of your sunshine.”


Campfire and Starlight

Hello baby!
Have you seen me lately?
My eyes glow again,
and my hands feel again.

Come ’round my way,
and lets play.
The campfire, and star light,
will dictate our mood,
and we’ll light up the night
with our lips.

My hands on your hips,
with your arms around the back of my neck.
Let’s silence the howls of the wolves
with your pleasurable screams.

Come ’round my way
baby, and lets play.


Better by the Letter

I could write words for days,
and still not mean a single one of them.

I could feel something so strong,
and never find the right words to write.

I could spill my heart out 
onto a page, or a blog post,
and come off disingenuous.

I could fabricate falsehoods 
with consonants, and vowels,
that would seem  to emulate,
even perpetuate, a sense of  realism.

More often I find my self
feeling lost in a whirlwind of words,
like violently swirling tornadoes.

There are fields of flowers
with letters written on them,
but they never seem to 
let me uproot them in the order
I require to paint pictures 
using the vowels and consonants
sprawled out on their petals.

I am getting better by the letter. 
The way of the pen is more
then spilling the ink kept with in them.
Spending seconds, hours, days, weeks, years,
seeking for words like
seeking for specific specks of sands  
in sweeping deserts.
Our minds.

I’m getting better by the letter.
I’m getting better by the words.
I’m getting better by the poem.
I’m better better by the story.


The lost

Before the sea swallows the land
like a beast downing a sheep..

And before the sky falls
and covers all below
in blankets of fire like 
children being tucked in 
for the final time….

Let it be know that we tried.
We were cast aside,
and prodded to go else were
like cows to their slaughter.

We where the hopeful ones 
among the hopeless.
We fought with words instead 
of swords, and we shielded
our selves with faith, and not gold.

We placed our comfort in our back pockets.
Stitched on our sleeves our are beliefs.
We where the ones who had
seen what the world had to offer and
denied it the pleasure of devouring us.

Lost, but not in darkness,
we emerged a people of freedom.
We where the lighthouses guiding ships
back from the sea. 

We where warned of the destruction.
Instruction denied.
Devastation….. supplied.