Poetry: “Dare”

used to get the push from them
the childhood need to ask for dares
but now i’m grown and past those things
and now i see no need to care

human interaction
is necessity, not sought
“hell is other people”
who refuse to be caught

people watching is what they say
but it’s more to that
and more to the way
they frown after leaving

maybe i’m not past it yet
maybe they need communication to reflect
or maybe my truth or dare
is a dare to connect


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Poetry: “Small Town Church”

Hallowed words echo from memories on dusted wood
Peaceful lives pass quickly, faster than the building stood
An empty hall by human eyes
Burdens on the staff baptized
Members buried in graves
By white wooden staves

Memories warm in now cold halls
The pastor, wrinkled and gray, prays away the fall
Sisyphean by men’s hearts
His wife keeps praying for her part
As her husband devotes
To keep Theseus’ boat afloat

New ears come to hear
New eyes to baptized
Light that shines from stained glass
Light that always lasts

But the pastor is buried in the same land
He placed his members by hand

But the church continues
The words continue


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Poetry: “Better Off”

I knew a guy who had a lot
Great job, good friends, and youth on top
But then he let his eyes go wander
And was the other man and then a father

They had a child together
And he lost his leadership role and business trips

Last I saw him smile at me
Wrinkles carved around his lips
He even lost his youth
And was no longer free

Yet his eyes he held up
Like he was better than me


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Poetry: “The Man in the Mirror”

The man in the mirror stands behind me
but always just out of view
from the corner of my eye I see
but can never focus on to

I thought he looked a lot like me
but as I kept saw him more
the man in the mirror stood closer
and looked different than before

He used to be familiar
but now he seems grotesque
like a melting statue in a wax museum
a bulbous, overblown mess

This morning he was there again
but this time right behind
odd that my reflection moved
with his dance this time


Just a quick, creepy poem.

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Poetry: “The Horseman in Mist”

The most famous ghost that sits on a horse
is the headless horseman from old folklore,
but he isn’t the only one I know to exist
for I’ve seen with my eyes ‘the Horseman in Mist’.

I drank at a local bar, an autumn night after dark,
I had some time to blow before walking the park.
I spent my nights there playing pool, having talks.
Oh who do I kid? I was drinking on rocks.

My friend Jason tried to warn me his way
from walking the park on that very day.
He said it was haunted on nights such at that,
but I blew the man off and threw on my hat.

I wandered the path through the old wooded park
and noticed the moon stayed away so it got pretty dark.
I tried to keep walking, thinking how the land laid,
and I followed a path, figuring out the right way.

Then the moon popped back out,
and a clearing formed there,
and I saw a black rider
with long silver hair.

I stopped and I stood there, the fog of my breath
puffing clouds of uncertainty this way and that.
But the rider himself stood on horse hooves in mist
the specter holding a saber with a skeleton’s wrist.

Turning and running was all I could do
from the ghost of the horseman in mist then I flew
but try as I might, the mist wrapped around tight
and the horse’s cold breath felt like dark of the night.

Out of the park I ran with a sprint,
and found lit street lamps, paved roads, and steel’s glint.
So I let out a sigh and turned to look back
there he was, riding there: the horseman in black.

He locked eyes with me
and I saw his pale face
then he turned with his horse
and drifted out of that place.

I wondered if the drink rattled my brain,
or the walk gave me some kind of pain.
I tried to rationalize it as best as I could,
but I’ll tell you the truth: since then, I avoid the woods.


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Poetry: “Death Came for Him One Day”

Death came for him one day
seeking to carry him away
but when Death looked inside of his house
the man scurried away like a mouse

He ran then swiftly
and Death walked on stiffly
all his life Death was kept at bay
and he was happy for decades until one day

Another person he met while outside
needed help to keep up their stride
he felt bad for them, and lifted ’em onto his back
but that was when Death came to attack

Death kicked in the door and ran in, all black
and the man couldn’t flee due to weight on his back
“It’s not fair,” he frowned. “They’re weighing me down!”

Death laughed, “My friend, they’re always behind you.
Age will grab on even if I can’t find you.”


I figured a good way to kick of October is with another nice spooky poem…

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Poetry: “The Bed Cradles”

the bed cradles
the head of those
who work hard

the mind wanders
from the work of those
who try in life

the work pesters
the feet of those
who walk the path

the feet ache
beneath the gaze of those
who know their direction

the gaze holds
in the head of those
who stay true to their convictions


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Poetry: “From the Cave to Eyes”

There was a cave once long ago
that sat outside a world of eyes
and when the people came to go
the eyes would watch and give them lies.

A cave-dweller came and saw
the fame she made from sunlight’s crown
the eyes came and gave her love
but then their number pushed her down.

After, few people of the cave came out
to seek the creeping death of fame.
Though it mimics love and gives a rush
it’s a death still, bound to flame.

A normal person can’t contain
the weight of a thousand watching eyes
like Atlas holding too much land
they push a person to their demise.


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Poetry: “Snow Day Snow Day”

white ice softly dusts the way
that cars should come the very next day
meaning no place now still remains
for the bus to lift the kids away

snow day
snow day
hear them say

snowmen grow in yards and play

snow day
snow day
kids ride their sleighs

dogs run inside unless they’re stray

warm sun glows up in the sky
the snowmen look and then they die
meaning the day must end kids cry
for the snow melts and plants dry


My newest poetry book is now available!

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Poetry: “While Sick I Dream”

while sick I dream of far off lands
adventure, wonder, desert sands
eyes closed tight
beds warm embrace
the moon at night
my silver place

early light in curtains’ folds
turn black lids red in windowed roles
open your eyes
and see the light
or stay asleep
continued night


My newest poetry book is now available!

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My poetry has been gaining some attention online:

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