Lead Balloon

Thoughts that tumble in my head
Would go down like a lead
Balloon, in the silent room
Of things denied
And feelings fried
And all that’s left unspoken.
They’ve only just awoken.
The time’s not right
To give them flight.
They’ve  settled on the floor
Next to a locked blocked door,
Waiting to be popped and stomped.
I’ll wait awhile more.


They Call

toss and turn. clammy sheets.
trembling hands and frigid feet.
creatures of the wildest kind
existing only in the mind,
hovering neither here nor there;
trudging through with weighty cares.
I know not if they’re bad or good
or simply the misunderstood.

they call, I come.
they chase, I run.
they seem as friends
but quickly lend
a mocking to my misery.
yet when they call each night, I’ll go,
afraid of where they’re leading me.
they speak of all that’s terrible
beyond the dusky shore of sleep.

*originally written on Aug 16, 2012 and recently published in the poetry anthology Ground Zero by Nicholas Gagnier of Retcon Poet

Ground Zero

Hold On

This sluggish day plods on, far away from dawn.
Nighttime dreams are swept away
Replaced by burdens of the day.

This day rolls into night, the magic of twilight,
When all our secret hopes and plans
Seem so very close at hand.

So hold onto your dreams and your nightly schemes.
The sun will cloak herself once more
And carry you to the other shore.

With plans that sparkle into life underneath that starry sky.
Where we can run and skip and hum
And dream of that which is to come.

originally written on Saturday, August 20, 2011 at 2:47pm


Why am I still awake
At this ungodly hour?
I try to force my eyelids closed,
But it is not within my power
To fall into that nightly spell.
I’ve thoughts to think and words to tell.
I try to rest my brain
But words keep tumbling in;
Far too many surging wraiths
For me to think of turning in.
I’ll try to pick just one
To empty out my mind.
Maybe something good will come
A blessing in disguise.

originally written on 11/2/11


The roof groans under many rains.
This earth spins on with many pains.
The leaves are falling from their boughs.
My heart groans too. I’ve been laid low.
I lack the words to say much more;
On this blue day I’m feeling poor.
Why is this world so very broken?
With a word You could have spoken
Peace, and restoration now.
So I will hold You to Your vow,
That one day hence we’ll see repair
Of things that still lay broken here.

originally written on 9/7/11

Blazing Days

Do you ever have a day where your brain feels slightly blurry;
When even simple tasks are riddled through with worry;
When you long to lie in bed with the cover pulled up o’er you,
Cocooned against the darkest thoughts that always buzz around you;
Received the cheer filled platitudes like “Fake it til you make it,”
But the energy and effort is more than you can tackle?
So I lie inside my mind and retreat into that place,
And e’en though it’s frightening feels like the only space
Where I can let the walls down and give myself a cry.
And waking from disquiet dreams I ask myself, “But why?
Why can’t I see the world through the spectacles of truth?
Why does every view I take, seem a dingy shade of blue?’
Do not try to cheer me as I make my lonely walk,
Or give me simple fixes. I don’t want that kind of talk.
Love me still or leave me. This is part of who I am.
Do not try to fix me. Just take me by the hand.
Keep walking forth towards blazing days.  I won’t be far behind.

originally written on 11/27/11


wake each morning sweating,
trapped beneath my bedding.
confusion reigns from dreams most dire.
my head has caught on fire.
paranoia running rampant.
captivity beneath the blankets.
enemies are everywhere;
i’ve not a friend to spare.
running. running. always running.
thoughts are strange and unbecoming.
no rest found inside this bed
whilst I live inside my head.


Have you ever written something that afterwards you’ve absolutely hated? Hated so much you wanted to break the laptop, or the cell phone, or the tablet where you wrote your masterpiece? Or for the old school crowd, ripped the paper from the journal but only after scratching everything over with a super thick Sharpie so you don’t have to be reminded of how stupid it was?

Ever thought something seemed so brilliant yesterday at 4:30 am when you were lost in the haze of half-sleep, just waking from a strange dream? Upon waking laughed “Hahahahahahaha, BRILLIANT!” and hit publish too soon? Have you ever tried to base your future best-seller on said dream, which was so fraught with emotion and complexity and even plot twists, only to realize…’Wait. I don’t know what in seven hells* I’m doing?’ And you keep thinking, ‘I can re-work this somehow, save it, cobble together my favorite phrases into something half-intelligent‘ only to have a piece which resembles a three-sided shanty house with rusted pans hanging from the front rail?

Or just pretended it’s really deep and that’s why it makes no sense in the unforgiving daylight?

Yeah…me too.

But that won’t keep me from trying.

Write on.


“You can’t think yourself out of a writing block; you have to write yourself out of a thinking block.”   John Rogers

“First, find out what your hero wants. Then just follow him.”   Ray Bradbury

“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.”   William Wordsworth

*Game of Thrones shout-out…holler.

Dream Bazaar

My brain has turned to mush
In the weighty static hush
Of TV’s blue electric light
Left on throughout the night.
Dreams infused with bawdy calls,
Shouted from the market stalls
Of televised metropolis.
I’m tired…tired. I’m nonplussed.
Clamor from the market square
“Look here! Here!
Working deep inside my dreams.
Sludging up from churning streams.
Coiled spring inside my chest
Winding tighter with each jest.
Screeching at me more and more.
“More and more! Always MORE!”
Dream bazaar. And dreams bizarre:
Keep that TV very far.


image used with permission from onlyhdwallpapers.com