In the Zone

23 Jul

Time, you took it.
Staked a temporary flag
on the opposite side of the globe.
“Tell me, what does tomorrow hold?”
It’s just a question of time
from my ever-inquisitive mind

I can hear your eyes roll
and the nanoseconds unfold
as you tap-tap away
“You are so yesterday”

We laugh, in the right tempo
and so our games go …
I am your lunch break
You are my midnight snack
Time, we make it.



Mary at Dverse Poetics has us contemplating time, and writing a poem about it. I am playing WWF with a friend who is in China this week, so I decided to play with words, and time zones. Besides, it’s 3 am and I can’t sleep.

The Party

17 Jul

Always wear black to a party
because you never know
how many guests will show
and not on purpose, but
while weaving your way back
from the bar, through a sea
of cheeks and kisses, you might
step into a jacuzzi, or the pool,
whereby black will save you
but red, would never do
There’s always that moment:
a clock chimes, and you’re struck
with the sudden need
to blend into the shadows
behind a potted palm for a
stolen kiss, or two, so I say
wear black to let the stars shine
brighter, and the skyline glitter
besides, people only remember
faces anyhow, the smell of
whiskey and perfume, the tinkle
twinkle of the ice cubes in crystal,
and the way smoke curls
against your cheek, just so
you know, and let this be a lesson
no one remembers
the lady in red, dancing
cheek to cheek
except me.

Always wear black

It’s party time over at Dverse Poet’s Pub … I love parties. This poem was inspired by actual events.


To the Captain

15 Jul

Thank you
for loving a woman so
ardently, with a passion
that could only be quenched
and rekindled with poetry, teaching
us, in between the lines, how
an imperfect man seeks
the fleeting bliss found
in the perfect spaces between
spirit and flesh.

I come, repeatedly,
to your fountain, hands cupped,
and while my female heart
savors small sips, they
go deep within me, filling
my own wellspring, yes
I thank you, because
from the overflow
I am able to pour forth
shining drops of imperfection,
that moisten parched lips;
my own ardent words
dripping from my fingers.

Mirrored mannequin.

Mirrored mannequin.

DVerse turns 3 this week, so today’s prompt is to celebrate poets! To  do this we are supposed to write a poem about a poet, a favorite poet, or an ode to a poet. Mine is a bit obvious, if you’ve read a few of my poems you’ll know who I chose: Pablo Neruda.


17 Jun

Adventure is nothing to shy away from
an invisible map on my lips you did write
perhaps I will leave a trail of breadcrumbs

All is unknown, but in time to come
I will find my way, it will feel right
Adventure is nothing to shy away from

I’ll follow my heart like the beat of a drum
and remember the fire you did ignite
I will leave a trail of breadcrumbs

I won’t fear that which may become
my humble heart will stay burning bright
Adventure is nothing to shy away from

I will follow this basic rule of thumb:
get good sleep, and always pack light
perhaps I will leave a trail of breadcrumbs

So, give me some mint, a lime, and rum
a map to your heart, and starry night,
Adventure is nothing to shy away from
I will leave a trail of breadcrumbs


This is a villanelle, which according to Wikipedia, “consists of five stanzas of three lines (tercets) followed by a single stanza of four lines (a quatrain) for a total of nineteen lines.” One very famous villanelle is Dylan Thomas’ “Do not go gentle into that good night.” It was originally a completely different poem, but with some coaxing and a generous helping of, I was able to hammer this out. My first villanelle! I had never heard of the form before last Wednesday, at a poetry workshop that I am participating in here in Jacksonville. It really intrigued me, so I decided to take a shot at it. The prompt came from Dverse poetics, where today Abhra challenged us to write about a place we would like to be. Although my poem is not exactly about that, I used the more general theme of travel, maps, and adventure.



10 Jun

She has her way
with everyone she meets
hiding her smile behind her hand
which makes you think
you can trust her
with your secrets.

Don’t be fooled, it’s all deceit.
She is the original uncajoled
merciless, capricious, dauntless
and don’t think she’ll forget about you
when you least expect it
- expect it

There was a time
when I thought she was my friend
that we were a team
and maybe I could help her out
there is no us
there is no we
she will do the job all by herself
if you try to force her hand
you’ll certainly lose yours

If you see her
out of the corner of your eye,
across the street
leaning against a street lamp
be nonchalant
make no eye contact
say a quick prayer
think: invisible
Because, given a chance,
Fate will feast at your table
then, wipe her mouth,
and smile, as if to say,
“I have done nothing wrong.”



We Can See the Shores

6 May

We can see the shores
beyond the white hills
We can see the ships
bound for distant lands
some with trade,
others with war

and we stand firm
taller, straighter
quietly pulling strength
from this sacred land
into our trunks, our limbs
our leaves bursting forth

ever green.

The Gardener planted us here
so that when the men come
With their axes and tools of stone
we will se e them coming and know-
they will turn us
into temples
and seafaring vessels
while we share our shade
with their young ones

because we have been given
a higher purpose
to serve man in this way
the blessed
the first of trees
planted by the Gardener
He made us mighty
and perched us here, on high
where we can see the future
and listen, for His voice.

Cedrus libani, Lebanon, April 2004. Originally uploaded on de:wiki as by de:Benutzer:Mpeylo


This poem was written in response to a great prompt by Abhra over at Dverse Poetics today. He challenges us to write a poem from the perspective of a tree- to think like a tree. This could have gone in many different directions, and I highly recommend heading over to his original post on Dverse and clicking on the Mr. Linky to read all the other poets’ contributions. Really great stuff!!

For me, this poem basically wrote itself. I love cedar trees. They speak to me. I find them in Scripture all the time, I love the way they exude strength and majesty. Among trees they seem to be the chosen, which is not just an honor, but also a responsibility to bear. The word cedar in Hebrew means “standing firm.” There are so many verses that I love that have cedars in them! From the Song of Songs, to Samuel, Kings, Proverbs, Psalms … it would be an absolute dream come true to be able to see them in person someday.

Déjate / Let Yourself

1 May

(English translation below)

Después de tentarnos
con oscuras amenazas
toda la mañana

una rica lluvia
lavandome el cerebro
(enlodado de dudas,
ansias, y deberes)
otorgando piadosamente,
con cada banda refrescante
y su respectiva brisa

permiso para desprender
susurrándome desde el cielo:
como la tierra se deja
frente a mis gotas
llenas de gracia.”


El Cielo Seductor

El Cielo Seductor


Let Yourself

After tempting us
with dark threats
all morning
it fell

a rich rain
washing my brain
(muddied with doubts,
anxieties, and duties)
granting mercifully
with each refreshing band
and their respective
miraculous breezes,

permission to detach
whispering to me from above
“Let yourself,
Let me,
Let us,
as the land lets itself
against my drops
full of grace. “

There Are Other Things

25 Apr

Some days I wish I could write
about other things

the whirring of the ceiling fan

the way early morning feels
like walking on glass

how every single leaf
curves with such grace

my relationship with
wood and bone

clever conversations
overheard between birds

or coffee stains
establishing residency
upon the dashboard

to write about anything
else, but
not today, alas
they have all grown feathers
and quickly fly away
when I walk towards them.




Where You Will Find Her

18 Apr

You’d have to look past
the surface of my skin
which the sun has
made itself at home in
and you’d have to ignore
the wisdom highlights I wear
like a crackerjack medal of honor
and there are scars
inside and out
but not where you’d think

and though all else
on my surface is average
you’d have to look past my nose
which tells a story
of 10 tribes scattered
a rotten inquisition
ships sailing across the ocean
generations upselling themselves
until the tables stopped turning.

you’d have to close your eyes
and if you are generous,
and willing to indulge
you will see her
embracing the wind
in the place between the fjords
she will be singing
and dancing
and waiting to hear
all your stories.


Self portrait

Self portrait

I Think I Figured it Out

18 Apr

Zeroes and ones
yes or no?
you’re either on or off
dead or alive
either you love me,
or you don’t
there’s no in between
no gray area
to muck things up
it’s like this:
if you flick that switch
I can see you
and if you don’t
we’re absolutely
wasting time in the dark.



I have had this poem in drafts for a while. I haven’t been too inspired lately to write poetry, and even the prompts for NaPoWriMo haven’t given me much inspiration. So, I decided to look through my drafts to see if I could find something to finish and publish, just to keep the ball rolling. I hope this dry spell ends soon!


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