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Poet. Essayist. Storyteller. Exploring passionate connection with Self, the Other, & the Infinite

There’s no place like home.

Photo by Drei Kubik on Unsplash

“You’re just like your goddamn father!” she shouted as I turned my back. A mantra mumbled anytime I stood up for myself. Or after too many vodka tonics, and I was always standing up for myself after those vodka tonics.

“Well, he’s gone, Ma — so, let it go!”

She turned her gaze out the window.

Her slurred curses limited not only to kin but anyone in her now blurred radar, who she unknowingly deemed worthy enough to ease her pain.

Or at least, distract her from it.

“What kind of homeless cretin actually uses their t-shirt pocket?!” she yelped…

entering Flowstate through Play

Photo by Ashley Byrd on Unsplash

We are born to create. No matter your craft: painting, poetry, music, or essay, you experience it.

Every creative has times when the well dries up. When the juices won’t flow. Stuck with the dreaded blank page staring back at you, as your once brilliant flash of foresight won’t manifest. The images, the words, or that elusive third-part harmony won’t land in key and your masterpiece grinds to a halt.

A Google search only lands you with the same redundant list of “How To’s.”

‘Get your groove back,’ ‘get your game on,’ and never face the…

Photo by Joey Nicotra on Unsplash

It’s been a while..

I’ve missed my words
gliding through your lips

I know you’ve missed them too..

Slowly rolling
softly from your
plump and supple mouth
are my ever deviant dreams

spoken words
recant our screams
against the heat and darkness
of the nights
we shared.

It’s been a while..

and I know you’ve missed these words
from your tongues tip

Wet lips
licked —
around my deepest inspirations

begging to be filled again
with my ever deviant dreams.

It’s been a while..

I know you’ve missed
the kiss
of these words
on your lips

speaking those…

google images

It’s a cool Autumn morning. So many colors swaying in unison as the wind slowly strips the trees. Brown, yellow, red; tans and oranges still tinged with green. I’m the only one out to admire this brisk beauty.

It’s hard for me not to frolic in the leaves. After all, I’m an “adult” and knowing my luck someone will be sipping their morning coffee — peering out the window just in time to see a stranger rolling around on their lawn. I don’t care to explain to the police or a shrink that enjoying the natural world is the sanest…

Photo by Steinar Engeland on Unsplash

I am hovering just inside the door of my mother’s childhood home. To my right — still as death, sits a couch. It holds the indents from both kin and the many visitors once needing rest. They have long since gone but their impressions remain much like myself; heavier in the air than on these soft surfaces.

Behind are three large windows, through which pours the Sunday, honey-lemon light — so rich, that I can taste its weight dipping into the bright wooden floor where it pools. Everything I see is warm and cool, the way an Autumn evening should…

Until their future is here?

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

Being the parent of two amazing children is one of life’s greatest experiences. They’re unique beings who constantly remind me of what is important and where my focus should be. They lead me to invest my energies in more worthwhile pursuits while avoiding the many dramas I see others fall into. They, like most children, are artists. They diverge, they observe, and they create. They are like no other. They are the future.

I am also keenly aware that my children and I don’t fall neatly into categories.

We are a jumble of race and ethnicity. My father is of…

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