You, with your practiced routines
And run-downs
You’ve learned how to tap your way
Into situations
and execute perfect pirouettes
Out the door
You know just when to make
An entrance
Your arabesques and dips
For no one’s sake but
Your own
You know when to glide
And when to shimmy
Your calculated steps
Those of a pro
Watching you twist and slide your way
Out of trouble
I wonder where you earned
Such moves
And if you’ll ever teach me



Ahhhh, Fridays. 

I don’t know what it is about Fridays, but I almost always find myself extra motivated and inspired right before the weekend. And then, of course, the weekend actually comes and all that motivation goes to waste because, really, it’s just so easy to get distracted. I haven’t watched Modern Family in a while, I’ll just catch up and then I can do something useful. Oh my God I haven’t had homemade pancakes in so long! I’m totally making some. Hey, you guys wanna watch a movie? 

I don’t always have the attention span of a hyper dog, but there’s an endless supply of things around us that keep us from doing what we set out to do. I’ll sit at my desk, intent on getting another chapter done, and I’ll remember that I didn’t check Poets and Writers for updates, or researched the best MFA programs in the country. It’s always something. Of course, there are days when an idea formulates in my mind and I’ll sit down, fingers flying over the keyboard until I finally look up and realize that the sun has set. But those days are few and far between. Most of the time I have to beg the wheels in my brain to churn away so that they can spurt something out. Preferably something of value. 

So, Fridays. I like to think that they carry a kind of sacred importance for me, as far as incentive goes. Which reminds me, I should probably stop blogging and work on my story… 


Here lie the roses by the sea

Drowned in the salt of memory

Forgotten, lost, their color gone

Now dim, though once they brightly shone

They tell a tale of boundless woe

Their stems are poisoned, have ceased to grow

The pink of promise, washed away

Their yellow tint now deadened gray

The reds have bled what red they had

The whites, no longer pure, but sad

The salt of oceans stings their pain

And leaves behind a lasting stain

Their petals shrivel up in fear

And beauty hides when love is near

Just as the heaving ship will sink

So too do these sick roses drink

Where even sunlight cannot reach

Finding the surface hard to breach

Neglected in a moment’s span

Tossed by a cruel and eager hand

Here lie the roses by the sea

Where hasty judgment set them free

Drowned in the salt of memory

Here lie the roses, in the sea  


These tears that fall from glassy eyes
This pain that she has kept inside
The way a heart can choose to bleed
Not out of want, but helpless need
This cold emotion seeping through
Has taught her well, has shown her truth
A fragile soul cannot endure
For that, she brands her soul as pure
This foreign lie, once held too true
This loss that brings her close to you
This hurt that cleaves her heart—in two

None but the truth of woven lies
Reveals your clever, sweet disguise
None but the hurt you choose to give
Assures her that her soul will live
This ship that sinks beneath her hands
As oceans drown out signs of land
Oceans of tears that she has cried
As you stand, hero, by her side
Not out of sadness! No, far from sad
For you would want the life she had
She cries these tears of smothered pain
Having slept so long in the rain
She shares the sorrows of the sky
Falls down no matter how hard she tries
She lives the truth encased in lies
And so she cries
She cries
She cries


Give me a taste of freedom

For I’d like to take a sip

A chance to walk outside of

This life’s insistent grip


What dreams lie before me

Or are there dreams at all?

I’d like to rise and touch the sky

Before I reach my fall


A taste, that’s all I ask for

My heart knows not its greed

Where can I find a road on which

My own dreams can proceed?


A taste, feeling nothing

But the rain upon my skin

And perhaps a freedom outside—

As well as deep within


Give me a taste of freedom

To liberate my will

Lend me a cup of liberty

So I can take my fill


To take a sip of freedom

That’s all I’d like to do

A taste of rights defended

And feelings born anew 


A soldier stood beneath the rain

His daughter standing by his side

Waiting to board an east-bound plane,

He held her tightly while she cried


She asked him if he had to go

Sobbing her heart out on his sleeve

He sadly smiled and held her close

Then told her, “Yes, I have to leave.”


He bowed his head, torn in between

The two things that he loved the most

A daughter whom he’d barely seen

And the honor of his army post


She’d gotten used to seeing him

Only every now and then

Things would be normal when he came

Then he’d pack and leave again


Her third-grade mind had understood

That this was Daddy’s job

He’d tell her he’d stay if he could

And she would only sob


Now there they stood, a strong-willed pair

She, clutching her father’s shirt

He brushed back a strand of her hair

And saw her blue eyes filled with hurt


The soldier then began to cry

And pressed his daughter to his chest

His plane ascended to the sky

And both their hearts came, then, to rest


The father laughed and dried their tears

And thought how blind he’d been before

He held his daughter to him, near

This angel—who’d saved him from the war


She smiled and kissed her father’s cheek

Her fears had all now somehow died

She now felt strong, instead of weak

With her hero by her side