This was written May 18, 1984.
I stand alone,
as I always will.
Friends come and go,
but all the while
I stand alone.
Just a molecule
of air, am I,
tossed about by
the wind.
I see, and know,
and love
others
but they go and
I see, know and love
more.
Always there will be
others.
Is there no one forever?
I stand so, so alone.
This poem was written in 1983, inspired by my senior ring, which had a blue spinal stone because my favorite color is blue. It was published in the Spring 1984 issue of Metanoia, the Montgomery High School creative writing magazine. Blue Spinal, Spiral me down, down to the depths of your ocean. I see everything…
This poem was an experiment … pushing my comfort level with expressing sexual desire. It was written February 20, 1991. Let my lips enfold you like petals about the stamen Let my hand caress you like the ocean caresses the shore Let my eye behold you more beautiful than a Rembrandt Your touch is like…
Another poem written during my creative writing special course. My teacher liked it, but now that I read it I know it needs some work. New jeans are nice, but old jeans are better. Old shoes are nice, but new shoes are better. Why do they insist on new jeans and old shoes, When anyone…
I was cleaning out my fiction and poetry files this weekend in preparation of renewing my efforts and found this weird little poem I wrote on Oct. 16, 1995. In fact, I don’t remember writing it. It’s in my handwriting and I do remember the line about the streamers, but everything else was like reading…
Written in 1983. The wooden chips float to the floor at each stroke of the blade. The gnarled, old hands shape the stick of wood with an expertise only acquired with time. The metamorphosis of the wood is slow and subtle. but as time progresses a figure seems to come alive. A figure of an…
This poem, published at poetry.com, was written in 1992 after finding out a friend of mine got together with someone I had had a crush on for a long time. I was O.K. with it but it still hurt. This poem was part of my healing process. Now I know why the wolf howls at…