To Mother’s House We Go

It’s a long drive to mom’s.

10 hours over mountains and through valleys

Over rivers and through woods.

Hundreds of miles in December

But, to mother’s house we went to Christmas.

It’s been an unusually dry winter-

Bad for our fire-hazardous, desert of a state-

But good for travel.

The first few hundred miles passed without incident.

The roads were clear.

Traffic was practically nonexistent-

But then came Vail Colorado.

Up, up we climbed in elevation.

The snow began to fall around 8,000ft.

Past the tall pines and ski resorts we drove-

Snow accumulating on the road

And blowing like a misting fog.

We slipped and slid on the slick road-

Boxed in by more cars on each side-

Too crowded to put on our chains.

Snow plows passed in droves-

Going the other direction.

We plowed through the slush ourselves-

Carefully rolling down, down the mountain side.

The skies clear as we drove toward Denver.

As we passed the city-

All traces of snow disappeared.

As we ended our 10 hour journey we realized-

Though it won’t be a white Christmas

But as we walked through the back door-

Greeted by two dogs, two brothers, two parents and a cat-

It’ll be a Christmas just like our childhood memories.




Home For Christmas

He’ll be home for Christmas.

I haven’t seen him since the green summer at the bay.

The blue seawater off the coast-

And the setting sun on the Ferry Slip-

a memory to last through the lonely autumn.

But, he’ll be home for Christmas-

To warm me again as the days grow short and cold.

I dream of our reunion:

A romantic kiss under mistletoe-

He’ll sweep me off the feet in the falling snow-

Just like the movies.

He’s the best present I could receive.

Lonely no more-

He’ll be home for Christmas.


Finals Week: a poem

*Inspired by a walk through campus during finals week.*


Finals Week: A Poem


The smell of coffee and desperation is in the air.

All along hallways students frantically thumb through textbooks,

Mutter over notebooks,

And curse over flashcards.

Students pass-out on the floor,

Backpacks used as pillows and jackets as blankets.

I walk through the library on my way to get lunch.

The library is filled to the brim with anxious students.

Tables crack under the weight of laptops, books, and loose-leaf paper.

In one corner the nervous eater munches their way through a bag of chips.

In another, the paper-tearer builds a pyramid of notebook scraps.

Everyone is hunched over their work.

The tension is deafening.

In a few more days the halls will be deserted-

The library empty-

The tables spotless.

The parking lot full of empty spaces.

In just a few more days- it will be over.



Grandpa’s Stories

My favorite Holiday is fast approaching- THANKSGIVING! In honor of this family-gathering Holiday I thought a little family-centered poem would be in order.


A family tradition

Of our own making-

Grandpa’s stories told at each gathering


Tales of misadventure:

Of a child, Marine, father, and grandpa,

Delight and entertain the growing clan.


Grandchildren laugh, Grandma rolls her eyes,

Grandpa leans back,

Left hand tucked under right elbow


At table’s head,

All eyes are on him

As his well-known story begins.


Tales we’ve all heard,

A dozen time or more

Still we request our favorite ones.


Our family gatherings

Wouldn’t be the same

Without Grandpa’s stories told.



Devils- Found Poem

*This is a found poem written for a school project. Every word and line is taken from Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness*


That heart of darkness,

Is it not frightful?

The shackled form of a conquered monster;

Truth stripped of its cloak of time,

The truth of the “civilized man”.

Angel or a fiend?

A devil; the devil of violence, and the devil of greed, and the devil of hot desire.

Serve him right; I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice.

A sort of vision.

It was like a weary pilgrimage amongst hints for nightmares.

The door of darkness,

The door to the inferno where the fire blaze.

Why in God’s name do men go at it blind?

The wanderer with a misty halo dance the merry dance of death.

What is there after all?

Joy, fear, sorrow, devotion, valor, rage, fright?

There is cold, for, tempests, disease, and death.

As I stood horror struck; I knew it was not inhuman.

That was the worst of it,

This suspicion of their not being inhuman.

We are the devils,

And we live as we dream- alone.

My Sailor

Oh my sailor,

My sailor, across the sea

Far, far from me,

Where I pine and dream,

But cannot be

with my sailor across the sea.


Oh my sailor.

My sailor, across the sea.

Please think of me

While I wait here for you,


For my sailor across the sea.


Oh my sailor,

My sailor, across the sea,

The dreams you dream.

The sights you see,

Both without me.

How can we be?

How, my sailor across the sea?


Oh my sailor,

My sailor, across the sea

Where will you be?

When your journey is o’er

Will you come home to me?

Please, my sailor across the sea.


Oh my sailor,

My sailor across the sea,

I know your love has turned from me,

Now it belongs to the endless sea,

Where you will always be

Gone, my sailor of the sea.


Samhain- Ancient Origins of Halloween

This is a poem written from an ancient-Celt’s perspective.  The Celts divided the year between Light and Dark, and Samhain was the dividing point. This Holiday fell at the end of Summer Harvest. As the days grew shorter and colder, and the night’s grew longer there was no hope of growing more food until Spring. The cold, dark, winter was a time of death and fear. This poem reflects the ancient hopes and fears of those people. It’s all in fun, in honor of Halloween tomorrow.

Tonight, is a night in-between-

Summer and Winter-

Light and Dark-

Warmth and Cold-

Life and Death.

Tonight, is the night that the year’s light fades and darkness reigns.

Our harvest is in-

Our stores until the light returns is set.

Whether we eat or starve is out of our hands.

We lite a bonfire in the village center.

We give thanks for our harvest and pray for our survival.

When we return to our homes we will take a burning bough-

We will relight our hearths with the sacred fire

To chase away the dark.

Tonight- we will feast, tell stories, sing, and dance as darkness falls.

Tonight, is the night when the worlds of light and dark, life and death

are one.

Spirits come into this world to both comfort and torment us-

Reminding us of our own mortality.

We fear the winter for its cruel bareness.

We fear the darkness where things lurk unseen.

We fear the cold in which gnaws the bones.

We fear death which comes to us all-

But tonight- on Samhain- we celebrate what we dread.

We chase away our fears with fire, music, feasting and dance.

Though darkness and spirits come-

Though the cold and winter draw near-

On this night- Samhain- we welcome it.



We talk of monsters-

Of things inhumane.

Unnatural, evil creatures

Lurking in the dark.


We talk of monsters-

Of things unlike us.

Twisted, unreal beasts-

Part of another world.


We talk of monsters-

As if they aren’t real.

Imagined, conceived visions-

figurative illusions.


We talk of monsters-

But we are the monsters:

The evil, twisted demons

That haunt crowded streets,

Daylit neighborhoods

And supermarket checkout lines.


I Almost Do

I almost give my heart to you-

I almost do-

Want to make one soul of two,

And trust in you.

I almost do.

I almost love you.


When I say “forever”, it’s almost true.

I almost do-

Want to spend my life with you;

Exchange vows and rings too.

I almost do.

I almost love you.


I almost want to marry you.

I almost do-

Want to bind myself to you.

Stand by your side through and through

But to repeat those two words to bind us two,

I can only say “I almost do”.


If I Don’t Come Home In Time

I pull into the drive after a long day at work.

I am tired and hungry.

It is dark and silent.

I turn the key in the ignition.

I shut off the lights-

But I don’t leave the car.


I place both hands on the top of the wheel

And rest my head upon hands.

I breathe slowly, in and out.

I unbuckle my seat belt and gather my things.

I open my car door and step out of my refuge.

I mentally brace myself for what I may find.


Three steps to the back door.

I fumble the key into the lock and turn.

The door opens,

I call to you.

You answer and I am relieved.

Tomorrow the process will repeat again.


As long as you answer I know you are here.

As long as you answer I know you are alive.

As long as you answer I know you won the fight.


I fear for the day you don’t reply.

I fear for the day I walk through the kitchen

Down the dark hall

Into the room and find you there:

Sprawled on the bed

Surrounded by bottles-

Perhaps covered in blood-

With gun in hand

staring blankly at the white ceiling

with dark, unseeing eyes.

I fear for the day I don’t come home in time.