Today I did a thing

Today I wrote and read some poems at a public poetry reading.

You read that right: I wrote and read today.

I woke up this morning knowing that I needed something at least semi-holiday themed for a poetry reading that I somehow agreed to take part in, sat down, and wrote two poems which I then proceeded to dictate publicly less than an hour later.

Who even am I anymore?

I’m starting to think that I’m the type of person who can not stop herself from taking things right down to the wire. But when my writing is well-received, it’s not much of a motivator to stop procrastinating, now is it?

But really, the point is, I pushed myself outside of my comfort zone today and read my work to a public audience rather than hiding behind a computer screen. And pushing my boundaries is apparently what I’m all about these days.Y

In an effort to keep things as tidy as possible, this is where you can read Falling and Snowman.

Until tomorrow,




“You’re a Parisian
snowman!” the young
girl, bundled up to her

eyeballs exclaims as
she places a beret on
top of a newly formed

snowman. He’s a bit lopsided,
but it’s the best she’s made
all winter. And the snowman

stares at her through his button
eyes and dreams of baguettes
and the Eiffel Tower and knows

nothing but a stationary life
and the happiness which
exudes from the girl each

day when she comes
to ask him how his winter
is treating him. And his

love grows for her more
each day as she gets taller
and he gets smaller.

“Je suis content,” he thinks
as he melts into the grass when
spring demands the young

girl’s attention.
A short one, but who
are we to say that

snowmen don’t live full lives?



Sometimes I find myself
watching snow falling from
beyond the window

and wondering if I,
too, am being watched
falling from a pedestal.

A pedestal that I
have fabricated in
my mind in a

feeble attempt to
believe that I am
greater than I was before.

My only wish:
to fall gently and to
accumulate with the others

who have built their
own pedestals and
tipped off the side, fallen,

and blanketed the earth in one final hurrah.

Maybe I’m a cynic, maybe I’m a writer

It’s the days that I want to write the most when I don’t seem to have the words to say.

I’ve got the topics, and yet nothing seems to come out right.

Snow and the holidays shouldn’t produce poems that quickly turn dark.

The holidays
Ah, yes, the holidays
Full of light and laughter
And families and tears
And anxiety and dread

See? I couldn’t make it four lines without the reality of how I actually see it seep in and surround something that should be lovely and warm.

But am I cynical? Or have I simply found my niche in writing?

I once referred to autumn as the springtime of death for crying out loud.

But maybe I can still appreciate the brightly colored holiday lights as they start to pop up and yet write about them as the lights which dot the way of misery. Or speak about snowmen in their rapid decay; their lives short, but who said it wasn’t lived to the fullest?

Perhaps I’m destined to produce the twisted view on that which everyone else seems to find splendid.

Regardless, here’s hoping that I can find something in me worth sharing at a poetry reading tomorrow that won’t bring a crowd of holiday shoppers down, eh?

Until tomorrow,




Obligatory airplane wing picture

There is something to be said
About the specks of dust that cling
Tightly to the wings of an aircraft
While being hurled through time and space
A reminder that distance does not cleanse all

There is something to be said
About the blinking yellow light
Illuminating wings through fog
Not unlike its emerald cousin at the end of a dock
A reminder that we can be guided home

There is something to be said
About the long, flying metal tube
Silently uniting strangers against their will
With one common, yet unrealized, goal
A reminder that our fate can be altered

There is something to be said
About a photograph of a plane wing
Encased in a digital tomb
Searching for acknowledgement and praise
A reminder that nothing is obligatory


Until tomorrow,


If I knew then what I know now.

If I knew then what I know now,
I would have smiled more.
I would have laughed more.
I wouldn’t have commented on the fitted sheet having come off the corner again.

If I knew then what I know now,
I would have breathed the air of the room in deeper.
I would have I would have held you closer.
I wouldn’t have missed the opportunity make sure that you knew that I just liked being in the same space as you.

If I knew then what I know now,
I would have been quieter.
I would have laced my fingers with yours just to feel the callouses.
I wouldn’t have let you leave without asking for just one more kiss.

But I didn’t know then what I know now.

It was just another day.