What Do I See Through Eyes As Pale As Snow?

what do I see through eyes as pale as snowWhat Do I See Through Eyes As Pale As Snow?

Glimmers of line and angle,

Contrast of curve and bow.

Crunchy stars that dance in place.

Empty houses where walls

only meet other walls.


Tangible ghosts speak

without curtains to reveal them.

Solid escapes made of absence,

of void.

Vast, tiny worlds of flapping cloth.

Fuzzy lives of mirrored selves.


Cracks in the plain

howl voiceless nothings.

Muffled synapses speak

in bursting deaths.


Depressed keys hold

for release, for ending.

In waves of echo

still surfaces reveal saints.

In slippery illusion

blank faces reveal



Death Like Raindrops

Death like raindrops falls upon the Earth,

washing clean a surface of pain and degeneration.

Death like wind blows gently the waves of the ocean,

rushing toward far, yet familiar shores.


We will stand upon it. We will walk the pale

beaches of lost knowledge

and find again what once was laid deep

in our bones.


We will rest upon the foamy water line,

seaweed and life tangled in our hair.

Till we rise and walk down the horizon’s edge.

Sharp like a knife it will cut our lives apart.

Letting what should fall away

be cast down into the pool of the Creatrix.

To be made again with purpose and skill.


And if we find that we can balance,

on the wedge of the Great Womb’s Divide.

We will walk on to a new realm

of knowledge and communion.


If not,

we will teeter.

Back to the World’s Shore

and find again our chance,

our responsibility,

to cultivate our simple truths

and forget

the false anchors that fasten us.


Till we know again, as we always do.

That life breathes death breathes life.

The hoop of vast chaotic energy

of We.

A Full Moon Calls to Me

Rising bright and fair, it calls to me.

I must go running,

leaping into the night.


Wind rushing behind my heels.

Breathe life, freedom.

Power galloping through a monochrome landscape.


Freedom dance beneath a pale, white smile.


Run, breathe.

Run, breathe.



Gray squares obstruct my light.

Dead and progressive slabs,

Cover my feet and block my path.

The light bounces furiously,

With no soft place to land.

Where once there were carpets of green,

Now only slate, hard, cold tiles.

Breaking, fighting my way free.

Reaching for Apollo’s face,

Green hands fly up.

One small triumph,

A step toward my Mother;

In a world of metallic giants.

Earth Mother

Dedicated to She who is bigger than name.

Her breath lies over me,

soft, firm, deep exhale.

The strength of her beauty

pushing, bending, not breaking the frail.

She carried the world inside,

protected in her womb.

She let it run free

yet always its guide.

Swift feet and faces that bloom.

They sing their praise

through hollowing and rain.

Through chirps and thunder.

Wondering creeks

each a vein.

In her embrace.

We are part of her,

neither below or above.

Walking Home NSFW

I walked down
a road of dirt and gravel.
The ground rattled
and my thumb curved toward County I.
The rusty smell of road kill
filtered through my nose.

Dry mud flaked
off my pants with each step.
Half a bottle of Jack,
a pack of Red Apple cigs,
and my lucky
black lighter.

I met a man in red flannel.
“Goin’ to join the hippies.”
His rough voice dragged
through my ears.
I shook my head,
took a sip of Jack.

It was ’92,
what hippies?
Must have had the IQ of a dishrag.
I wished for his innocence.

He wiped a tear
on his shirt.
“Gonna miss days like this.”
He was talking to the sun.
“Looks like God just stirred up the sky with a stick.”

Stick echoed in his throat,
as he squeezed the trigger.
Even after his blood hit my face,
I thought he was god.
The hammer of the gun
was the only sound for miles.


I wanted to break the rules with this one. Most professors and poets and people will say that in a poem you should not use many adjectives. I dislike this rule. Adjectives are my favorite. So this was my way of saying, “I do what I want.” Also I like vampires, so there’s that in there too. Clichés and too many adjectives, take that poetry rules!

Burgundy, velvet drapes

dusted the ground

near the high round window.

Breathing cobwebs

hung in shadowed


Jumping water

echoed off the marble


Chocolate wood

lined the frozen


Each rhythmic ping

took longer

than the last.

My mind strained

to hear the next



Sleeping lights

would not shed

their glow

on me.

Emerald eyes


in the distance.


breath scratched

on my throat.

My wet, bare feet

slid on fierce,

marble floors.

My drugged body

fought for safety

from the intoxicating


Cold, strong hands

grasped my unaided

arms and hurled

me into the dank,

solemn bedroom.

Short breaths escaped

from my lips

and icy sweat

dressed my brow.

Smooth canines

pierced the skin

by my clavicle

and strong lips

sucked out my blood.

Warm, liquid rubies

caressed my skin.

Cold no longer stung

my eyes.

The dripping water

trembled in my ears

and my arms went slack.

New vision filtered

my sight and ghostly

shapes took form.

No cold, no warmth.

Only the still

sound of water

on bloody, marble floors.


An unsung song,

a piece of life that is still.

The unbridled flow and churn of its essence.


and birthed

by each flickering spirit.

The remedy to what ails

and cause of what burns.

Mother and child of pure, unadulterated joy.

A blooming son that reaches for the sky

with every breath.

Life like the hidden and buried earth

beneath layers of cold reality.

One in all,

all devoted to the One.


I need it.

Mine, my very own.

Rising my day,

And setting my night.

I revolve around you,

my celestial center.


Giving in to your grace.

Releasing into serenity.





I have it.


Goodbye Girl

The latest poem post! This one does contain one curse word, so head’s up. Otherwise, enjoy.

I know that mole

on the back of her neck.

It hid behind her hair,

like a brown period.

Or maybe it was part of a colon,

and the other half was too scared to play.

She once cut her hair

just to show it off.

It still had me surprised.

That wasn’t like her.

I slammed my hand in a door

and she didn’t see the black,

purplish bruise for two weeks.

She was always caught

up in her own shit.

Even now as we sat at this table,

in this crusty, smoke-filled bowling alley,

she couldn’t see the tears in my eyes.

I was trying to hide.

Why did I care

if she saw me?

After the night

of faceless sex

with her.

Still, dignity wouldn’t let me

cry in front of her.

It was no secret

neither one of us really felt attached.

I could go home

and she was there.

But she wasn’t my first thought

in the morning

any more.

Now her hair had grown

over the period.

But it was pulled up,

in a dying, black scrunchy,

and the mole lay ghostly

behind it.

A brown ring

from her glass of coke

stained her napkin.

She had ruined

my favorite book that way.

A faint, broken circle

dressed the cover

of Love in the Time of Cholera.

“Annie Get Your Gun”

played as she got up

to “powder her nose.”

I knew where this would end.

I would try to make her feel

better, but she wouldn’t feel anything.

I wanted this situation,

this relationship,

to end.

“That’s unexpected,”

was the last I could hear

of Squeeze as I left.

No notes or words

would help or hinder her.

There was no sorry

that either one of us wanted.

I reached into my pocket

for my keys.

Which still

sat near her basket of fries.

A piece of napkin

lay on top of them.

“Goodbye,” her curvy

handwriting bled

in the condensation and coke.

Wild and Free

Who knew that the editing program on my phone could do such amazing things! This is was created entirely on the phone using the editing software and instagram, nuts huh? Remember live life to the fullest, be true to yourself, and find the magick in all you do!

wild and free