“Come on,” the mother tugged at loose, plaid sleeves,

The other daughter watched across the street.

My brakes in anticipation squeaking,

Glances from all three plus me at the wheel.

A quiet intersection of our lives.

She then waved, urging me to drive around,

At this moment, more in command of me

Than the daughter too scared to cross the street.

And two parallel lines met just then,

Touching briefly before we all moved on.

A Father’s Sonnet of Parallax

Behold, my child, the flowing road below,

A river underneath that rushes past.

A blur of motion urges us to go.

The eye is fooled to think we must be fast


Now look ahead and spy the distant hill.

The mountain crawls along horizon’s edge,

The clouds above are nearly standing still,

And none can tell the sun to rise and set.


Your focus changes everything, I say,

Perspective is the greatest tool you own.

If things are slow then watch the day-by-day

The small details will show how much you’ve grown.


If things move fast then look towards the goal

And let the stableness refresh your soul.



It sneaks

through the cracks

like a bubbling

pitch that burns and numbs

as it crawls across the

surface of my vision stark

and black against the blue glow of

monitors and screens which smirk at me

like I’m not good enough and I’ll never

be okay, and as it washes over me

and hardens into tire rubber I can’t muster

the strength as my limbs are tight against my body and

I’d have to lift something with muscles I’ve never

used before or ever knew existed, like

I’m wrapped in cement and I don’t have the

momentum to spin and I’m too far

behind everyone, so I hide

where its safe where nothing can

hurt because I’ve been on

this road and it’s just

a big circle.

I feel sick

and so


Across the Gratitude

Appreciation only hides in gaps

Between the darkest pits and brightest peaks.

Consider it a graceful cave that traps

Destructive ideologies.

“Entitlement,” we named the glutton brute,

Ferocious imp consuming joy and peace,

Grotesquely chewing on the prideful root,

His appetite will grow the more he eats.

In time, the fiend emerges from its lair

Just shambling upwards searching hungry for

Kilometers into the crispy mountain air

Like starving wolves that marked the scent of gore.

Mistakes like these are often found too late,

Neglect or sloth the cause of bedrock flaws.

Oppressed by selfish urges far too great,

Profane belief that they deserve applause.

Quiescence only comes with quiet time:

Recall that nothing ever truly lasts,

Sustain humility despite the climb

To then appreciate the now and past.

Until it ends for good and we look back,

Vitality reduced to wrinkled hands,

When satisfaction is the thing they lack,

Explain to them and pray they understand.

Your highs and lows are there with purpose, too,

Zeroing out to be what’s meant for you.

What Are My Chances?

Thought-drenched storm in free association

Tallying from one to zero and back

Colliding and fragmenting and merging again

Nothing is gained from ifs and maybes but,


How do I calculate what the percentage is?

When are the odds in my favor or otherwise?

Who can confirm the statistics of all of this?

Why do I try then to constantly theorize?


The meaning lost in numbers trite

To quantify impossibly

For fortune favors fancy flights

In peer-less probability.


She may say yes.

She may say no.

But it is best

To stop and go.



From me,


And see.


If it cannot be measured with values unknown,

Then I trust in the harvest since something was sown.


Sleep, Ancient Orchid

Grinding gears return to dust;

Burning colors ever thirst;

Memories begin to crust

Veiled in moments I have nursed.

Furtive glances in suspense

Like a petal plucked too soon.

Oracle of life or death

Teaching us the secret rune.

Crest upon my chest and rest

Youthful flower fossilized.

Hang your treasure from your quest

Amber orchid come to life.

Heed the call if that is all.

Pride shall come before the fall.