gratitude, Nature, Peace, Poetry, Uncategorized, Whimsical as Heck

Today, I turned I’ve hours in Wal-Mart into a couple of sizeable steps on my journey.

Thinking in the pouring rain and then the fourth aisle (for the third time), it was a happy Mother’s Day.

In two days I’ll be a happy public servant. My friends have elections to win, and I want to stand helpfully political by their side.

Smoke billows from the incense like dog fur growing,

The diamonds and four-sided stars putter and cough,

As a swirling gale from five feet away comes to snatch the fur in a circling whirlwind.

It hangs in the air and sticks to the wind like glue,

Giving it a definition I never thought of.

I look around my room. Shoe-hangers, instrument corners, and some god-blessed open space.

This place has a definition I never thought of.

Perhaps the elements play darts with the two pairs of flip flops that face

The blusters coming from the open window across the room,

A smidge less than twenty feet away.

A wind spitball hits me as I type that.

Everything’s doing fine.

Everything breathes.

This isn’t foreshadowing any other June horror stories.

I’ve got my peace.

So maybe I need to run and give it to others.

What was Tim’s last name again?

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. 

Helter Skelter:

Internal Poetry, love, Nature, Questions, The World is Beautiful

Love. That beer-battered heart in a cage we vilify.

Lefty crushes helter-skelter, bouncing through the willows,

Through pillow talk and talking us down,

I’ve traded my treats for the hilltop bungalow,

Coated in amber, bleeding mauve through the cracks

Of a broken glass sunset.

It’s time to be grateful,

Give heed to the deeds of the lovers above us,

The hour is less than a full night’s sleep away.

The power in my chest is a dull plight’s steep decay.

The dour sung frets come full sky scenes to play.

Like yesterday,

I fummeled with redness

And pummeled my headrest,

So the only sleep night’s fair

Is a sleep’s nightmare.

My antagonists are into it,

They’re masochists, they go away.

The field is petals

Of rose and gunmetal,

The incubus Fahrenheit

Has me in its iron sight

It’s there and trite, they’re not welcome here today.

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


Fear, Internal Poetry, Joylessness, Nature, Poetry, Uncategorized

The chains of my habit I’ve forged with love
Have been frozen in feet of snow and broken.

Change drives us all, but why does it have to drive now?

It’s hard again to tell the excuses in my head from my thinking voice,

But both nod in agreement after an 8am emergence from the corners of

“You did what??”

To calmly sit down, juxtapose a thousand,

And calmly return to bed. (It didn’t send.)

You can’t get hurt in the avatar state- you’re either master of the elements or dead, no in between.

And I’ve been seeing my weaknesses exposed to too many.

I’ve estranged sleep, like the friends I lost and loved.

My weathered body has perforated itself

Into the shapes of the things I want to create.

My flesh will not become catalyst.

The focal point on my pinky remains the same after the weekend’s wear

My hair hides humiliation under its treetop canopy,

I pray for birds of paradise to visit this troubled biome dome

And sing their replenishing song under the covers of my sunstruck mattress,

Hopefully taking their shit far away from my locks,

But nobody’s perfect.

I will decide to stay dormant and hibernate,

Let the problems I fear alone,


I’m asleep so I’m healing.

Logic wins over feeling.

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.

Flora Love Song

Nature, Poetry, The World is Beautiful

I’m in a relationship with the Durfee Conservatory.


Have you ever wondered what personality a plant has by species?

What about the personality of each individual plant?

They grow, they think, and they’re capable of loving back-

Their sentiments flourishing oxygen that we breathe,

Our gratitude we breathe right back into their life forces.

Little trickling pockmarks shape the kisses on the wrist they deliver

When you sprout love toward them from your fingertips outwards,

Entire roomfuls of plants turn into hours of loving conversation,

Species and genus devolve and unravel into life stories revealing perspectives

A being without chlorophyll could have never understood.

Patience is indeed a virtue, time becomes the upwards crawl into quiet magnificence.

Some crawled across the floor and sat along friends in low places.

Some sprouted high and far as their own fields flourished,

Some twisted in perfect geometry,

The knowledge of their methods far beyond a high school trigonometry simpleton.

It was a choir of feelings, colors and growing that

Tickles my wrists from the inside out,

And grabs attention from the drops of water they would playfully put on you.

Nourishing as if every corner breathed the same breath in unison.

The bamboo forest is becoming healthy again,

I could tell by the way they opened their pores to let me breathe their scent,

Unique tranquility I had never experienced before- I felt their essence clear as day.

Compared to the perpetual hunger for attention and power that us humans pursue,

Sapping ourselves from each other’s joy.

Plants know nothing else than to give and to grow,

I feel in my core that wisdom is something to emulate.

I’ll do my best to do just that.