Poetry

Our Touch

An original poem created based on the theme of Touch. Featured in a Hudson Valley, NY based magazine, Clementine Magazine Issue 02.

What is it

To Touch a soul?

To feel a connection,

Something so bold?

Connection to one another,

Or connection to a thing.

Touch isn’t always physical,

Touch can make your soul sing.

Anyone can Touch another.

Could be a stranger or a friend,

Or even an object or a place,

Or things we may not comprehend.

That feeling when your inner self

Feels full of love and light –

You radiate a gorgeous glow,

And everything feels right.

Emotions truly run so deep

When experiencing life.

But what becomes of that graceful Touch,

When we’re experiencing strife?

Touch could be something

So graceful & sweet,

But on the other hand,

Can be so deceitful & weak. 

A Touch of love,

A Touch of hate,

No Touch at all,

Makes one insane. 

Some prefer to feel any way,

As long as it’s not lonely,

Sometimes things turn to gray

When all you want is someone to stay. 

One can Touch the lives of many,

Or many lives can Touch one being,

It all depends your way of seeing others,

And recognizing a true purpose of living. 

That’s why we must be conscious

Of how we interact

With every being in the world

So our universe can stay intact.

There’s so much more to life,

Than money, work, or school.

We must Touch each other mindfully

And use this as a tool

To see that we are in this together.

To embrace and uplift each other.

There’s nothing more important in this world,

Than to be united with one another.

Embodied

An original poem inspired by an Airbnb stay in Schenectady, Ny.

Embodied are the memories,

Experiences of those before you.

Many have passed through this door

To get away, to reflect, to find peace.

Inspiration around you,

Vibrations from the strings.

A lovely state of solitude,

In this tiny little nook.

An orchestra of sound emerges

With the full moon rise.

Striking cords around the fire

Toasting marshmallows, making s’mores.

The crickets chime in

Keeping the melody.

The frogs jump in

Adding the bass.

Music – a universal language

Between creatures and humans alike.

Something so harmonious

About a concert late at night.

Thoughts

An original poem created by a whim of words. A true story of how poetic inspiration hits me.

Sometimes words pop into my head

Effortlessly and it begins to thread

And weave into something I wasn’t expecting.

Something like a poem or story I’m telling.

Then all of a sudden I’m super distracted

By the words flowing so smoothly. I feel I contracted

Some type of illness that lets my words flow,

My mind goes free and my pen just goes.

It’s funny sometimes, because I notice

When I have things to do, I tend to focus

On the ease of words and rhymes flowing.

Most of the time I don’t even know where this is going.

So I just let my pen in hand do the talking.

These thoughts don’t move fast, it feels like they’re walking

And taking their time picking my brain

Of the right words to say and to be able to explain

That when I allow my pen to keep moving,

I feel this energy, it’s something soothing.

Like I’m doing what I’m meant to do, which explains the ease.

It’s my superpower, it feels like I’m freed.

It’s amazing how things just work the way they do.

When you let go and you feel an energy fly through you.

Like a river, my thoughts are put onto paper;

Free flowing, unstoppable, one with my nature.

It’s a beautiful feeling, I truly am blessed

To have the ability of not putting some thoughts to rest.

Sauvignon Blanc

An original poem stemming from an uninspiring evening. This takes the reader through the real-time back and forth I had between lack of creativity and the urge to write.

One of those nights,

Maybe I’ll write.

But my mind feels dry

Just like this wine.

Glass one, two, three, four.

Maybe if I shut the door.

Enclose myself,

Put the glass on the shelf.

Get a few words,

Okay, this sounds good.

Thoughts pop in

And out again.

Damn.

That was almost something.

Sometimes it flows,

And I just know.

Other times,

I have to pry.

I had a good ending,

But I gotta admit,

It completely slipped my mind.

Another swig or two,

Something to do

While I wait for the inspiration to hit me.

Ten, eleven, twelve, one.

It seems as if the wine has won.

Trying to find the phrase,

These hours feel like days.

I hate to force,

But I can’t find the source

Of my art this quiet night.

On Rain

An original poem inspired by an enticing rainstorm.

Glorious on a gloomy day,

As rain drops fall

Hitting the window.

Something about

The dense gray sky

And puddles forming

On the concrete.

A light mist

Turning into a drizzle.

Bubbles on puddles,

Resembling soda fizzles.

Gazing at

The soggy ground,

The sky begins

To speak.

A deep

But soft growl,

The storm is not

At its peak.

A gentle rain,

A gloomy day,

Some candles,

And a blanket.

A picturesque

Scenario

With a soothing

Sense of warmth.

The chilly fall weather

In late September

Is always unpredictable.

Cozied up

In the dark.

A flash

And then a boom.

The drizzle,

Now a down pour

Hits harder

On the glass.

A sense of peace –

Nothing to do,

But to enjoy

The show.

My favorite type of day

You might say.

A beautiful day

For rain.

The Hurricane

An original poem inspired by my past and present.

She’s known as a hurricane.

Words like whipping winds.

Footsteps like crashing thunder.

Her aura, blinding lightning.

Only seeking

The destruction

Of all that’s in her path.

Keep your distance.

Take cover.

She’s a ruthless storm.

But these days,

She’s a sun shower.

Light is peeking

Through her clouds;

Picking up flower petals

In her cool breeze

On a scolding day in summer.

She’s gentle,

Though the rain still pours.