•January 2, 2014 • Leave a Comment

when at the cusp of crossing roads
where land meets sea and sky unloads
a feeling long forgotten here
creeps back in time to close the year
and wrap the time in garish bows
that sear the eyes and scorch the nose
(yet leave a warm and soft desire
that cuts through cold like newborn fire)

a world away, in white repose
lies fragile home adrift in snows
that cradle lives with silent hands
as moonlit waves on sifting sands
the time is ripe for time to pass
and open days encased in glass;
to place on hold what softer things
the peeking light of new-year brings

so slippery words become a poem
and I forsake my world for home


•April 16, 2013 • Leave a Comment


I just saw “The Place Beyond The Pines” tonight.

The film is a whirling, disjointed piece of cinema with enough gut-wrenching tropes and hollow characters to fill three movies. I can’t remember the last time I felt so thoroughly anxious and sad while sitting in a theater.

The movie seems to grasp at the strained but delicate artistry of “Drive” and the melodramatic darkness of some or other Lars von Trier downer. In its attempt to tell multiple stories across multiple generations, the film muddles whatever message it might have had in the first place. It’s like watching “Cloud Atlas” sans the carefully woven, overarching story elements. Perhaps certain parts of the film survive on their own merits (haunting bits of music smeared over hypnotic cinematography come to mind). But the disparate pieces remain so, never becoming sewn into a coherent, thoughtful movie. This is due in no small part to the wasted acting talents that filled the robotic roles on the screen. It’s very difficult to appreciate a movie if one can’t begin to find honest humanity in its characters.

At times, it seemed as if the director was purposefully trying to lose his audience. There can be value in such an endeavor- so long as the audience returns (and with understanding). What we ultimately received, however, was the substitution of flimsy prestidigitation for meaningful storytelling.


•May 23, 2012 • Leave a Comment

another dance of swirl and sway
will rise on high from night to day
and rock my soul with surge and swell
from evening song to morning bell

the slightest sense of creeping cold
does well to keep my temper dulled
and sweep soft thoughts on swells so swift
that fill the hours of night adrift

in sweetly singing, rolling seas
that pull the cares from hearts with ease
I’ll swim till surf sees hills of sand
that rouse and guide me back to land

stirring silence

•May 18, 2012 • Leave a Comment

a cool breeze licks my skin
and I shudder
silently and without emotion

no prayers of love or gasps of fear
will pass my lips
as evening laps against my solitary soul

and so I walk
in awe of my corner of the world
and the stirring silence
of the graceful moment that holds me

under the moon

•May 15, 2012 • Leave a Comment

the year has melted into midnight
and its weeks and months have passed
into that far horizon
without notice of sail

and that warm, inviting sunset
has long been burnt through and doused
filling the times of our lives that came and went
with soggy buckets of this or that

where will I go
as the days drip into one another
and I collect my thoughts
like wayward shells by the rolling surf?

how many more nights under the moon
should prompt me to pause
and strike my mind’s metal
minting memories anew?

none, I should like to think

but nothing ever goes as it might


•May 10, 2012 • 2 Comments

on the clearest of nights
the uncounted lights of eternity play upon my spirit
and I yield every bit of attention

for there is no greater wonder
than the inestimable vastness of creation
save, perhaps, for the well-lit love
of the life that fills it

and every twinkle that lends its joy to me
is another steadfast reminder
of the days yet to fill the span of our sun’s flowering
and bring life to our delicate oasis

before our reflections join eternity
and pass as ghostly waves
across the inky floes of space


•May 7, 2012 • Leave a Comment

we’ve only a few breaths or so
of glistening, holy scintillation
before that inevitable and all-encompassing night
surrounds each tallowed mound
and robs the room of its brilliance
so all the better reason to share in the fulfilling glow
of another’s lighted wick
and together make shadows on the ceiling and wall
that dance without fear of expiration


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