A World of Glee -Published by Blue Crystal Literary Magazine, issue 14; “A World of Glee.” (2025)
A Happy Marriage -Published by Blue Villa Magazine; “A Happy Marriage.” (2025)
Heat -Published by Blue Villa Magazine; “Heat.” (2025)
Armageddon -Published by Blue Villa Magazine; “Armageddon.” (2025)
Serve a Purpose -Published by Paddler Press Magazine; “Serve a Purpose.” (2025)
On Marriage -Published by Paddler Press Magazine; “On Marriage.” (2025)
Go with the Flow -Award winning runner-up of the Young Writer’s Journal weekly prize; “Go with the Flow.” (2025)
Waking Up -Published by Interweaved Magazine; “Waking Up.” (2025)
you turn on the radio -Published by redrosethorns journal; “you turn on the radio.” (2025)
I used to live in a box -Published by Snowflake Magazine; “I Used to Live in a Box.” (2025)
Finding My Voice -Published by Ascendancy Magazine; “Finding My Voice.” (2025)
A World of Glee
Don’t think of what you’ve accrued,
Or something, by many,
Considered lewd.
Turn, instead, to a world of glee,
For we belong, I allow,
To God’s country,
And everything, at some point,
Means something new—
So why disavow
Our wildest dreams
A little doubt, however,
Would make sense,
For life at the speed of light
Mayn’t make a lot of sense—
Rest assured, bright eyes,
For heaven’s intense:
Everybody shall live on
A particular frequency,
And that’s the secrecy
Of recompense.
-Published by Blue Crystal Literary Magazine, issue 14; “A World of Glee.” (2025)
A Happy Marriage
To say that I love you would be uncouth,
But it would be the honest to God truth,
And I know somehow that we would survive—
When our sins, at the end of this, we shrive,
Leaving us to a life of desire;
I don’t know what your life shall require:
We all need purpose, if not vocation.
I’m determined to build a foundation
That will keep us safely squirreled away
If or when the devil we’re forced to pay—
To balance out all the goodness we share,
And the time, in gratitude, we repair.
I guess, however, when things fall apart,
I remain, then, when you give me a start,
There’s no loophole in the marriage we prove:
You are the animus that I behoove.
-Published by Blue Villa Magazine; “A Happy Marriage.” (2025)
Armageddon
I share the mountain,
Though it is a sacred place;
No bombs can reach us.
-Published by Blue Villa Magazine; "Armageddon." (2025)
Serve a Purpose
my body is a function of water and light
light that zips this way and that—
and unites us with those that we admire,
people made lovely by what’s good
and those of us, too, cleansed by fire
one hand washes the other
and, as such, we can build a life together
we work, in tandem, as a brotherhood
you cannot degrade me with your body
it’s only my reaction that makes me happy
ugliness is a function of justice
when we look after ourselves we’re bound to see,
our features, and our bodies, serve a purpose
and everything, including evil
would make sense
if we had no roof over our heads—
You are, however, what you become
that’s the advantage of being a Christian
or even the atheist that would act out
if forced to attend a hateful place—
which, haply, doesn’t change our faith
in the greatness of a beautiful mind
-Published by Paddler Press Magazine; “Serve a Purpose.” (2025)
On Marriage
don’t I find joy in the felicity of others?
that is how my spirit eats and drinks
now that I’m of a certain age—
I don’t find fulfillment throughout my body
my sensations are limited by degrees
and I cannot rely on chasing a high
I’ll follow, in good faith, the limits of my mind
without hating the portion I’ve been given
and stating, simply, that I can’t understand.
I don’t depart, love, from nature—
I keep it with me all the time
we serve a greater continuum
one that includes the greater whole
having every libido to resist
means, for many, that you marry
you exhaust, then, all your hatred
by creating through an act of love
-Published by Paddler Press Magazine; “On Marriage.” (2025)
Go with the Flow
trying to dig my way out of this ditch
thinking primarily of your midriff
and all the ways we advertise our bodies
until getting high means getting low
the price to be paid at your window
looking in like a peeping tom
ready to get plastered
and go with the flow
but you don’t love what you cannot see
I’m too chicken to tell you how I feel
and, besides, I might let it slip
every memory is routine
afraid, I guess, that I’ll end up like you
hair that covers your ears
reading a book instead of checking in
trying to determine the television
whether or not I’m a robot
trying, in vain, to hack into your account
I’ll wash with tomatoes to cure the skunk
don’t ask what I might’ve thought
or what I was doing as I lit up
chasing off the other half of my life
a life that, apparently, I couldn’t accept
which I’m sure was a downer to another
You can’t go on—I know how it feels
but your body, at least, could be of use
-Award winning runner-up of the Young Writer’s Journal weekly prize; “Go with the Flow.” (2025)
Waking Up
you die a little death each time you make love;
you get cocky, sometimes, and don’t give a hoot,
and that, too, leads to procreation
you emerge like periodical cicadas
leaving, for us, their molten shells
we feed on tree roots for seventeen years
then we emerge—and save the date,
for a wedding, too, is a milepost
but how, I ask, do cicadas tell time?
they must, I infer, react to a magnetic field
but what, I must ask, influences that?
apparently, however, they’ve a molecular clock
but I’d want to know how that works, too.
I determine that nobody really knows—
there is no conspiracy to keep this from me
we don’t like it when we can’t answer,
so we don’t talk about things like that;
I joined the throng when I grew up,
and resisted the metaphysical chat.
now, as a man of a certain age,
I rely, mostly, on my experience
but I keep, in secret, to my books
and I’ve driven my darkness hence.
a little faith replaces those that are dying
and celibacy can amplify this—
so be pleased, my love, and give us a kiss.
-Published by Interweaved Magazine; “Waking Up.” (2025)
you turn on the radio
you turn on the radio
hoping, i gather, to make me angry,
everybody knows how i feel
about rock and roll—it just makes
you want to drink and smoke
what, once drunk, would you do?
i think you’d end the night
in my arms—not long
after you let yourself out
and you let me in
i know you’ll be something else
in the morning;
the light of day doesn’t match
the idea you have of yourself,
a master of words,
falling out of the closet
so as to better save yourself
from the onset of your disease
a schism, i suppose, between
the love that you need
and the auxiliary desire
that you would appease
I used to live in a box
I used to live in a box
with diagonals coming out
at the corners, making
an extra cube out of itself
i lived in a tesseract,
privy to the secrets of aliens,
tossing and turning,
giving in to sausage and cheese,
or chocolate chips,
or taking a break over a cup
of decaffeinated,
as i pulled myself together
back, then, to my prison
doing time in my room,
waiting for clarity
that never comes—
not without a hot bath
taking two baths a day once
didn’t have the same effect,
owed myself the morning
Finding My Voice
the first time I raced a girl, my muscles
opposed me (I have the slow twitch kind)
and she beat me by a mile;
It’s no consolation, either, if you cannot
run a mile—I quit the world of sports,
and turned to love after a while.
I turned, also, to the sauce—
stories about my ancestors
made me want to be like them,
when I first learned, however,
that they were ruthless rakes to boot,
I felt that I’d been had—evil,
I know, had taken root.
there are two kinds of people in this world:
the doers and the storytellers,
and, should you ask, I’d save my skin,
and observe the state you found me in,
drunk and mocking my closest friends.
Forty ounces of beer, for that,
sure made the people laugh—
they were happy that I was acting out
they knew, all along, that I was disturbed
the men, now, that I am meant to be
do not resemble this reality;
I’m as clean as a whistle—the greatest
storyteller that, as a poet, I can see