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∴ sibling of the dawn
bore from the alder, Wednesday
sprawling blue ridge crackle wide
as light does pour
through the wetlands
and verdant green
taking nourishment
hickory and wild berry
each moment a promise, anew ∴

∴ with shovel in hand
i dig into the soil
burying my heart
weighted potential
seeds once hidden
light emerges from earth
now stretch toward sky
nurtured by effort and days
compassion bears fruit ∴

∴ In quest of honour, stith and stout
he seeks no fame, nor boasts about
through trials wild, in woods enchanted deep
and mountains high, where dragons sleep
dons armor dark, by flames both charred and seared
the fate he seeks ‘neath stars revered
bards of the morrow may sing his song
yet these titles and glories, to the stuffy belong


for in adventure, his spirit thrives
not in crowns won, nor wealth doth strive
deeds untold, in scrolls, quietly rest
valor and romance, in hearts, confessed
stories whispered low, asked by his kin
’til dying day, content with the joy within ∴

∴ an evening with the perfect book
tracing the curves and lines of
every letter, every word
tongue gently exploring
intoning each syllable
immersing in the depth of meaning

linguistic explorer
costume optional ∴

∴ gridlock grip
radios rage
harsh horns

blameless
invisible hitchhiker
riding shotgun
with their baby’s spirochete-shaped toys

no hoarder of keepsakes
yet these toys remain
unbidden, in the car’s confines

navigation fogged
voices speaking foreign
lost in tongues unknown

a throng of commuters
thundering past
a stampede of haste

temperature spikes
engine protesting
overheating in defiance

tires wearing thin
tread fading fast
inch by weary inch

angry gestures fly
as vehicles creep by
their impatience palpable

brakes fail
a screeching wail
sqreeeeeeee
head-on collision

a breath. a release

a moment’s caress of this chaos
a minor delay

homeward bound. soon
i’ll be on my way ∴¹

1. 7th day of October, my poem “baby” was featured upon Kelly Sauvage Moyer’s new blog, Spiro Keats: A Creative Community for Those Living with Lyme Disease. My own journey with Lyme commenced in the year of 2018, whilst my daughter’s trials began in 2015, leading her to a severe form of POTS that left her bedridden for over three years. After enduring numerous rounds of antibiotics, medications, alternative treatments, and the counsel of countless specialists, her breakthrough came at last at the Mayo Clinic. Though no magic cure was found, mindfulness and steadfast activity have proven to be the golden key. ↩︎

∴ a picnic in the park
on this snowy day?

let’s instead indulge
each other
by the fire

we can graze, nibble,
taste, and savor
to our heart’s desire ∴¹

1. NYT Connections puzzle-inspired poem ↩︎

∴ on this snowy morn
i stroll in the park
beneath the silver-bright sky
seeking to pen a verse for thee
loquaciously
my thoughts cascade

pondering which words to choose

i listen intently to the breeze
sibilant secrets she imparts
as she tenderly envelops me
hesitation begins to dissipate

as i search for the perfect line

i ask the brook for guidance
her bubbling conversation filling the air
lost in her continuous flow
the quest for clarity begins to ease

‘twas when i lean against the sturdy oak
steadfast in her strength beneath my touch
that solace finds me
her core though i can only sense
is marked by resilience and endurance
the connection surges bespoke

will this bond- liminal and so fine
endure beyond this snowy morn

and i begin to write ∴