Years and raining blossoms

Hi, everyone. I’ve had two realizations this week and it’s only Tuesday. The first is that it’s April and April means it’s National Poetry Month and I haven’t put up a single poem yet. The second is that, as of tomorrow, I will have been keeping this blog for an entire year. That is bananas. This time last year, I was a college senior struggling to keep it together long enough to graduate. And now, well, I’m still struggling, but I’ve been able to write and do work that I am grateful to do. I just want to say thanks for reading and sticking around, everyone. Here’s to hopefully many more years of blogging! And now, without further ado, here is a poem to celebrate National Poetry Month.

They say that, when the blossoms rain early,

the sky is not too far behind,

that the days will stretch out

and then shrink back in on themselves

again, reaching

for the blackness

that, summer or winter,

is always there,

after the sun sets

and before the dawn.

I wonder about that night

before the dawn,

if it feels neglected since people

almost always want it gone.

Or if it doesn’t care

and shines forth regardless,

casting the sky in crowds of stars.

Some time,

I will stop wondering

and start wandering

and seek the answers

to the world,

to the darkness,

the light,

and the everything in between,



Never too much reassurance

It’s okay

don’t listen

when they say

you have to have it all figured out

because the journey

doesn’t end

when it’s yours to win.

That’s when it all begins.


Hey, lovelies. I just wanted to put up a little poem I wrote a few weeks ago. I hope everything’s going well for you. I have a crazy couple of weeks ahead of me but I’ll be blogging a little more once things are done. Hang in there, everyone.


There was the smallest lull at work today when I had to go watch the reference desk for a few minutes. I grabbed a scrap piece of paper and wrote some tiny poems. I don’t post many photos, but I thought I’d snap a picture. It doesn’t take long to inject meaning into a few minutes simply by writing a some words. This was taken on my long-suffering lap desk. Keep going, everyone.


Please forgive my crazy handwriting.

The open door on Halloween night

My grandmother always left

her back door open

on Halloween night, no matter

if the moon glowed golden

or the stars were slow to creep out

or the snow came swirling in.

“It’s for Bailey, the baker’s boy,”

she’d explain, even when no one asked.

“We went to the woods to play

with the ghosts, way back

when the world wasn’t constantly alight

and screaming.

He never did find his way home.”

The last time she told

that story

was fifty years ago.

Now it is my turn to open

the door

as my grandchildren squabble over

Halloween candy and their parents

referee them amusedly.

The night is calm and deepening dark.

I close the door, feeling like the

senile fool my neighbors

who live in the houses

that weren’t there twenty years ago

no doubt think

I am.

“Here we are, Bailey,” a tiny voice, reminiscent

of grandma’s drawl, whispers.

“Home at last.”

“There’s leftover candy

in the punch bowl,” I say

to no one and smile

at my silliness.

Perhaps I am going senile

after all, though that doesn’t explain

the heap of wrappers

cluttering the carpet

come morning’s light.

An apology/Loneliness and Sociability

Hi there. I’m incredibly sorry that I missed an entire week of poetry blogging. But life, as it usually does, got in the way. My mother had to go to the hospital (she’s home and well now, thank goodness). I’ve also been preparing for my first attempt at National Novel Writing Month (more on that to come) and have been working on different pieces for the websites I write for. In addition to all of that, I just have been exhausted and not wanting to do much of anything. The last one is a paltry excuse, I know, but sometimes you just need a break. Anywho, I’m back now and I will be posting more poetry in November to make up for the lost time. Without any further ado, here’s today’s poem, “Loneliness and Sociability.”

Loneliness is an old man,

craggy faced and frowning,

wistfulness always in his eyes.

He haunts in corners,

and stalks the alleyways,

watching the cats scrounge for scraps

in the light of the October half moon.

He thrives on paths untrod,

seeking nooks never found in which to hide

until it is time to move again.

Sociability is a bright, young thing,

her smile dazzling even the stars,

her laughter enchanting all.

Once you are in her presence, you

are hooked, unable to be left.

You and she hit the clubs,

dancing to the music in a swirl of gossip, smiles

and vibrantly colored skirts.

One day, on a park bench off the beaten track,

while Sociability was tying on her dancing shoes,

Loneliness walked by, gazed at her sweet form

and observed her vivaciousness.

Hesitating, he perched next to her on the bench,

barely looking her in the eye

as he made the request that had long lived in his heart:

“Let’s coexist.”


Here’s a quick story about this poem. I briefly belonged to a writing group in college and this was the only poem I ever brought in to be workshopped. The people in that group, especially the leader, were notoriously picky and this was the only time I ever heard him say that something didn’t need to be completely overhauled in order to be made better. I still am ridiculously proud of this poem as a result of that. I hope you’re all doing well and that you’ve enjoyed reading! Bye!

Opposing pages

I drew us on opposing pages

so our lips would finally touch

and our hair would mingle together

though I never intended it as such.

Here in this sketchbook,

among portraits of people from my brain,

we are together but different

my then dearest wish made plain.

I knew your face so well

yet here’s where art and life sever.

I drew us on opposing pages so, even now,

I could look at you forever.