Poetry · Writing


I have to write.

I stare at this blank page

and it stares back

taunts me.

It feeds off me

like a leech it

feast on my fears for breakfast

and sips my anxiety like tea.

Never satisfied

until I write.

So here I sit

Staring through this open window

waiting for the magic.

From a home I can’t explain

neighbor of imagination

down the block from love

Or is it hate.

Next to the house that always cooks barbecue.

That smell that sweeps the block

through open windows

love hate relationship with your belly

as it fights for something more.

Yet, here I sit

waiting for the magic.

Watching this orange fuck

slowly crush our stars

gathering Universal’s Minions

calling himself Gru

wasting on a par 4

stealing candy from unborn babies

from the home that he

is burning to the ground.

Closing our window

after only a few months



Need to-

Look for the magic.

Gather fingertips

the window is still open


Don’t fly

We still have to fight.


Here I stand.


silent page.

Starting at the open window.

Needing to make humans think

think twice

and tell them a lie

that this window

Will always be open.

Poetry · Writing

the day before yesterday

Planning for the future

with a hammer

and a couple nails.

It’s a joke

I know

but it’s the truth.

The nails are a bit rusted

felt like I should mention that.

Bent too.

Head to Home Depot

to have your card rejected

but find a two by four

on the way home.


Buddy said she had

some parts for me,

pity screw.

Looking up already,

call it a note worthy day.


Poetry · Writing


The black panther lives in the rainforest.

This is the home of Faith.

The promising work of a florist.

Home forever even as a wraith.


Enchanting the world with sunny kisses.

Always with you like a reprise.

True nature’s cheery missus.

In spring time, love is carried on the breeze.


Her beauty undeniable by all.

All wanted to see what she could achieve.

Impossible to foresee thee befall.

This panther bows as she takes her leave.


All panthers ache and weep.

Rest now in your beauty sleep.


Poetry · Writing


been there and back with you

cold shower in our apartment

using our silverware

sleeping on our couch

feels like hell

being this close and so far apart

but it’s the love that keeps me here

rooted to this couch

waiting for you to let me back in

i have done all the crosswords out here

seen every movie

watched every single episode of how i met your mother


i need my lilypad

you will push

but i am not going anywhere

only going to pull you closer

i need my lilypad

a pause button would nice

need your fingers to feel my brain

your body to leave the cold night behind

pancakes in the morning

never get enough of you

refills are not free but i will pay every cent

this is our pond

and it would not be home without you

Poetry · Writing

Lotto Tickets

winter time

frozen tears in my eyes

all out of juice

something like a tin man

need a little loving to feel my knees

wagging my tail at the sound of those keys

just as foolish as that good boy

never got any warmer three coats later

ever seen a goat in a coat

you’re about to see one walk out of here

nor here nor there gone in the wind

maybe in kansas or colorado

always been a little rocky

but that river still calls to me

like jumaji those drums beat for me

crossing in wind and snow

with nothing to show

a bag and a book

a fool i was called a not a spare second

the keys will rattle

and echo through my brain

three states away

will you find me

or is that a pipe dream

are you even looking

or am i out buying lotto tickets

will you take that chance

or turn the heat on

Poetry · Writing


What can I say;

resistance is the key-

cut the ignition save ya ammunition join our expedition-

now excuse me as I play the role of demolition

It choose me leavin’ behind that electrician

such a smooth transition

just a little tradition

me and my son.

Strayin’ from the norm

never caught in the storm only followin’ to use this platform

that you gave me-

now the lines are suggestions

everyone calls it into question

trying to make some corrections.

All just guidelines

a path to success that worked for someone else so it’ll work for you

so will draw our own, so grab a scone while we do this full-blown

cue the saxophone-

play it out.


Poetry · Writing

Thousand Oaks

The needle comes and my skin won’t jump

the axe takes a dozen head and we all blame Trump.

More shooters then Holidays

can’t take the day off, swimming in prayers.

They’re still here, still on the way, still in the mail

but there like last nights dinner, an expiration date on them.

The world is year around winter, so fucking cold

the states in chaos- baby everything out. of. control.

A man lost his son-

a man lost his son and it’s gone in the wind

gone in the news, ready for football tonight

another tragedy lost in the crowd

it’s just everyday life-

only matters

when it’s you answering that call.

The axe will continue to swing

and the orange man will pull the strings

prayers have gone bad

by the end of this poem.

Poetry · Writing

Rush Hour

“When you feel sad,  it’s okay. It’s not the end of the world. Everyone has those days when you doubt yourself, and when you feel like everything you do sucks, but then there’s those days when you feel like Superman. It’s just the balance of the world. I just write to feel better.



Just something Malcom told us

sit around and discuss

but I care less and less everyday

all they check is your pockets on payday

never open- closed off like construction

pushed off- nothin’ but a little self-destruction

blockin’ the doorway skippin’ lord’s day can’t catch the freeway

all they care is about payday

take it all just a free for all

lookin’ to leave behind this hell- fire escape

heaven is a crime scene, stand behind the yellow tape.

And now I’m late

caught in Rush Hour

still kickin’ like Jackie and smilin’ like Chris

something I could never dismiss – sit around and reminisce

he will always sit down remind me with his holiness

the world don’t give a fuck about your loneliness

even tho I’ll be over shit

the world don’t give a fuck about your loneliness

They’ll tell me “Get yourself straight

how much money can you make?”

Poetry · Writing

The Last Script

hey- just one y

don’t want to blow this

I’m here for a long time

not a single episode a series

on tv for generations.


Never saw a trailer

didn’t know this is where I’d be

putty in your palms

can have me in any way you want

just love being your co-star.


Butterflies when the ellipsis comes

what are you saying

jumping up and down

hiding my face from the world

hey good morning how are you

and my cheeks explode

floating to heaven

but I have to reply

because you are the one.


Now we’re on set

after rehearsal and make-up

it’s my favorite scene

the last first kiss-

and I’ll reminisce.


After all the lines and the shooting

will meet in trailer

to practice our lines

and it’s all in Braille

all over your body.


I remember when they were casting

saw you way in the back

thought you were so perfect

now we’re all over tv

what a wonderful match.

Poetry · Writing


A planet or two on my shoulder

a little sluggish today

excuse me if I’m a little slow

the door is a little wider

thank you in advance

I’ll keep my promises

and keep you warm in the Winter.

It’s not so heavy

when the shoulder multiply

walking down the aisle in a black tie

and I’ve never seen it before

but the one is the most beautiful

never leave only care for

was a little late, inexcusable.

Ever seen a juggler with the planets

a god in jester clothing

basic attire with a star tattoo

and a wild hairdo

the strength in these palms gain from our root

I’ll be your guardian in red leather call me Groot

I am, no- we are done with this planet.

Poetry · Writing

Xavier Flow

Posted on my mind

you were hell of a find

thoughts and you’re all of ’em

fought it and lost in the third

tapped out- an unstoppable force

a Juggernaut in my mind

hindsight is on the decline

can’t guarantee the Ice Man will make it

but I’ll never fake it-

and if you go will fix it with Cable

and tie a bow on it and I’ll meet you on this table

you’re the main course

ridin’ in on the white horse

savin’ the day- X-force.

Poetry · Writing

Missing Breakfast


just a dream but I can feel it

in my bones

the birds chirping

let my arms rest easy on my side

church bells ringing

every tick on the clocks hands,

my mind throws a party.

Weaving thus pen between the lines

still can’t read

still I feed

and I’m still hungry;

hungry for the night that’s not stolen by the goblins-

hungry for a story like a lost bear walking with Christopher Robbins-

just not as lost anymore-

still hungry,

for you.


When breakfast is over,

I’ll be in line for lunch.