Gratitude is a Weapon

Amherst, Empowerment, gratitude, Internal Poetry, love, Peace, Poetry, The World is Beautiful

Gratitude is a weapon, keeping eyes sharpened to edge and warmth in its holster.

I’ve taken tabletop infinity for granted.

Food deserving of national prestige has become commonplace, valueless as a plastic swipe to forget. Now, I’m hungry.

My love-saturated heart grew weary of people’s attention, and now it starves for it again.

The space I wished to travel across faster has become fixed and cramped. I yearn to let my roots down to spread and paint the room.

The commodities I scorned as Capitalist I see as luxurious now, in this backwater little kind of town.

And how many more are out there? How many more live under heavier blankets?

It boggles my mind.

It feels like there is so little I know, but I know that gratitude is in order.

So I’ll sit back as I attempt to stretch once again into lotus,

And visit the temple I carry in my chest with affection.

My left eye throbs with the weight of observation.

My body aches with the motion of today.

24 well-spent hours and still, little has changed.

How do I make it past this college dream to fight for the right to keep dreaming afterwards?

How can I build this all up if my surroundings fill me with feelings like additional luggage to unpack?

In a nibble’s fraction of my inability to comprehend the universe around me,

I fail to comprehend the totality of life on Earth- in America, Massachusetts, Amherst or No Bro.

So I thank the air that chooses to bend,

And I thank the inspirations I’ve been forced to leave behind.

I thank the people who have taught me patience and the people who have learned to be patient with me.

I don’t think I thank them enough, so I thank them again for the few and far-between.

May the thankful react live longer than Mother’s Day Weekend.

May our collective gratitude burst forth often, like bundles of light to nag us with sweetness.

So we never have the chance to lose our luster.

I’ll keep the syrup of gratitude at a boil,

So it can splash viscous like water across an infinite tabletop of cups running over,

And melt with abundance through the hardened hearts of the people who need it.

That is how I will fight my wars.

Gratitude is my weapon.

A Good Great

Amherst, Peace, Poetry, Stuff to do

I glance across the monolith

To the boy chewing on his headphone cables

And wonder what he’ll end up becoming after his time passes.

Will he make it big in his corner of the world, like I hope and hope I will?

I don’t know him well enough to find that truth.

I don’t know myself well enough to know my fate.

So I agonize over these forces with an imaginary locus of control.

I think of the article I almost wrote. The novel I’ve been trying to finish.

Something clicks in my head, an invisible loudspeaker materializes

With veins bursting in their forehead

Among the obscenities and cuss-outs, I hear this.

“Take it day by day and just fucking do it.”

All of this existential future dread took up the space that my improvement needed,

So I fell off of my rails and succumbed.

No more.

It’s back to the poetry. An easy routine whose greatness becomes easier in time. A photo a day to complement.

In a life where time is the antagonist and greatness the ends,

I realize I have nothing but time and greatness is subjective.

Bad people can get what they want and win.

They’re called great without ever being good.

Why put time in energy to compare myself to these vastly differing goals?

I’ve got skills to develop and time

To make my path to a good great.


The reflection in the mirror after 4 years at UMass will not encase me in who I’ll be for the rest of my life.

All we can do is move forward.

What a beautiful gift of a “can” that is.

April Begins

Amherst, Empowerment, Internal Poetry, love, Nature, The World is Beautiful

I’m stretching my 110 percent 

With broken parts and missing pieces. 

But it’s okay, I play on repeat. 

The lazy day is gonna come later, 

Where luxuries like sleep can be embraced. 

That doesn’t mean I can’t relish the moment’s reprieve, 

Feel the sunlight on my skin with distant friends conjoined

And realize collective things aren’t that bad. 

It lets me climb the jagged obligation summit with a smile, 

If not just for a moment before my cracks begin facing strain again. 

This is the season of good surprises. 

Serendipity befalls missed expectations, 

And the Hazy picture in front of you gets colored in birdsong and granite steps, 

The kind that made you love Amherst all the while ago. 

There’s an hour left before the drums recommence, 

But the summit has a hell of a glow on the ascent. 

Some day soon I’ll sit atop this apex, 

And I’ll drink my Jasmine 

And write my glee

As nature’s love unravels before me. 

My Own Time:

Amherst, Empowerment, Internal Poetry, love

There’s a reason why things move slower in Chadbourne 420.

12:43, nine minutes past my ideal but the channel still becomes clear.

It’s open and waiting for me,

But I’ve decided to scrap the binary between

Pleasing everyone and doing everything.

I’ve submitted to the comforting chill of my self-important path.


The free caffeine I nabbed to speed me

I grabbed from Peets so freely,

It pleased me, breezing from knee deep to key’s sheen.

And it all unlocks.


There’s a somberness you get from seeing portals close unattended to,

But there’s solace in the fact that it was never your responsibility to make it.

Prioritizing between the musts and cans has turned the poetry of my to-do

Into insurmountable beasts growing heads that sound like my father.

But no more. Now, I write.

Plant Matter Oracle

Amherst, Internal Poetry, love, Nature, Peace, Poetry, The World is Beautiful

I don’t know what it means.

Making my durfee rounds, I reached beyond eye level

To greet the leafy creepers below

And the spindly towers of cascading vines above.

The flowers in bloom at the height of the greenhouse

Looked lonely, as if the sun above were all there was to look at.

I couldn’t surrender to my friends the way I previously did,

Some faint exhaustion from the human power clash still strained my wires.

The bamboo forest housed another, deep in meditation today.

We reveled in the silence of uncoaxed language,

My sockets didn’t hurt and the pebbles didn’t dig into my flesh like I used to.

More and more, I feel like I have a place there. A home with patient friends

Devoid of ego, or coated in chlorophyll deflecting glances from passersby.

As I settled, I began to sleep wide-eyed in lotus.

I saw dreams unfurl to me in consciousness,

Billowing sheets of celluloid texture oscillating off-center from my vision,

In deep pomegranate magentas.

The light that reflected from God knows where

Cast a shadow in a snowy backdrop behind a window,

Of a gruff figure pondering me from the distance.

I wonder how much of this is vibration,

And how much of it is sentiment.

But the moment I could feel myself watched through closed eyes,

I watched back.

I forgot the definition of lucid dreaming in accidental practice.

I can’t tell the difference sometimes between lectures and daydreams.

My mind may be tired, but I feel it expanding with ripe thoughts

Hungry to loose themselves into reality.

I will refine this peace further, because of how damn good it feels.

That smell.

The cold air on the heaters pushing the cold from the shower

That wakes you up in the morning

That’s my Jasmine Tea, my blissful addiction.

The time’s coming for euphoria, for come-ups and for rebirth.

The tectonic plates of our faces will change again, the cascading waves at the top of our pores

Will ring opalescent in shifting beauty obscured by bright eyes.

This is where Shia just did it.

This is where Donovan sat and talked about an empty Baltimore.

This is where I became self-assured.

Even though the season’s in peak bitter,

Peppermint schnapps gales hit us with the same burn

And refuse us warm bellies,

The background is stark, white, and cold.

The dormant things lie in wait for the first kiss of spring’s promise

When the air soothes, not stings

When the daffodil harbingers make their brave venture

And colonize their space under the namesake of beauty.

A garden of eden appeared under closed eyes,

And all it took was a whiff of its potent nostalgia.

Amherst, Empowerment, love, Nature, Peace, Poetry, Uncategorized

The longest streak my ski-shoes made today was 30 feet.

My soul sunk into a group of fine buddies like a down pillow permeated.

Today, I stopped the hypnotizing pull of a schedule

And unshackled the depths of my emotional self.

It tasted like the kind of unconditional happiness of my right mind’s eyes.

Warm and strong, burning soft with desire.

I let the precise and judgmental stay dormant today,

And gave into unmitigated self-love.

It whispers sweet nothings about breaking my rigid schedule

That I allow myself, pulsating in joy, to dip into like blood-warm water.

The tricking tips on the back of my shoulder and wrists

The world employs to enjoy mutual company

Have taken the form of water around me.

Fluid and loose, my energy flies like a

Sloven dog with wings learning to flap.

There’s no rush or objective, besides passing the time we have in bliss.

Tomorrow will be new, start with blue running shoes,

And I’ll fall into my habits soon

Like pre-emptive gratitude.

Life has pulsated in response, the moon’s waxing to capacity

And likewise, I feel my own body inundated with light and wonder

“Are there any things up there looking back at my shine?”

Amherst, Internal Poetry, love, Poetry

V’dawa (Valentines’ Day’s a Week Away)

Amherst, Nature, Poetry, The World is Beautiful

The fleshy clumps of snow
Hit like a minor chord.
With the elegance and show
Of the loves I can’t afford.

All matted, they patter and bury the grass.
The third tomb to fall, how many more will pass?

Obscured with a sullen, silent dream’s fright
My breath’s an even cold, melting matter mid-flight.

Metawampe has donned a new solstice crown
And the student’s coats have become gelid gowns.

If only this could be a temporal freeze,
So we could all feel, and create how we please.
With our fingers and minds and the tools of our trade,
And look lachrymose at the future we’ve made.

Lotus Eater:

Amherst, Fear, Internal Poetry, Nature

I’ve gotten out of my routine,

Like gravity deciding to take a day off

I’ve floated aimlessly,


Through the bubble sphere of Amherst and onwards.

Creation is beautiful and important,

As much as I am beautiful and important.

What normally dictates self-worth with an iron fist

Has yielded to just digging life.

But when you take a breath, shit gets scary

And the thought that you could be keeping those elephant spooks off your lawn

If you weren’t being so damn inactive,

Makes you want to spring to life and clean your room spotless.

But you’ve gotta remember to stop trying to make your feet touch the ground.

Gravity’s taking a day off, maybe a couple. Who knows?

Consequence Schmonsequence.

Live to be happy now before the desperation kicks back in.

You don’t have to be high to come down.

So now I’ll sit on my own little floor

And eat the Lotuses for a day.

They taste so sweet, like familiar sex.

I’m slipping.

Everything’s fine.

Hot Cheese Up Front

Amherst, Poetry

My face is getting pulled in more directions than I’m used to.

Gravity’s really kicking into overdrive, tugging with heavy pockets of

Little coffeeshop vodka bottles.

Through the streets of a college-stricken Friday night in Amherst.

I got to act myself this time the party came round.

I acted like an indifferent fool, dancing his way across whatever steps he chose to take.

Joy- pure, simple, and undeniable.

I still feel like I’m letting her down, and him, and me.

“How’s that concert.”

I was what I acted, and my conscience snapped at me hungrily.

Tug along, give a sprint for good measure from the corner of North Pleasant

To the bus stop- sprinting and bus stops will be synonymous.

We made it, with time to spare to harmonize crossed with John the lion and impress ourselves.

Others joined in for the mutual spectacle of two mutual broes in their element.

We take all we can get from our surroundings, like overconfident conquest was in our blood.

Bus comes, Peter Cache and Matty Ede are there and they’ve changed with time.

The channel took me again, I knew it was time to part.

“Where are y’all going?”


Say no more, I’m there.

The scene was hot and furrowing with the promise of Hot Cheese Up Front.

Undeniably college, undeniably cool. Dank slices going straight to your facehole for $1 a whack.

It was a classic. It was sacred space by the Kendrick Place.

The air wriggled with the collective of energy of post-barcrawl collegiate types
Not looking to end their night.

So we caught up to the line peaking out the door and faced the surprise draught screaming from the doorstep.

Someone within earshot fumed quietly, resigned. They were days away from their feelings turning into spoiled cottage cheese in an unplugged refrigerator torso.

So I spoke sweet about cheesy ends to the means we’d receive regardless, that our patience would be rewarded and the moment would be as great as we wanted it to be. Shitty people can’t take Hot Cheese Up Front from us.

Then he bought me a slice, bless his soul. He thought I was the kind of guy I don’t think I am.

Regardless of moral identity conflict, I burst with gratitude towards him,

Dropped a piece of hot cheese on the shirt he wore accidentally.

What kind of front is that? Dingus.


I’m too gone to let meticulous empathy take me now.

I see myself blurred in a busy mirror landscape. The camera does as well. A pizza box flies in front of my face in the picture, steals my thunder in a way Hot Cheese Up Front deserves.
Bless the Hot Cheese Up Front with the kindness every person deserves.