Pink Love
Pink is the color of Roses & the color of my babies Noses

Pink Posies bloom in Spring & my Lover gave me his Diamond Ring

Pink is Cotton Candy
Sticky on my Fingers
The Sun Set is Pink & My Gaze Lingers
Just us two here, a couple of Dreamers!

As the Children run Swiftly away in the Sand
A Pink Pooka Shell spins Softly in the palm of your Hand

All things Pink I surely do Love
The cheeks on my Sweetheart Oh Lovey Dove!

The Lips of my Love so soft and so Pink
My Lover teases Me with a Nod and a Wink

Pink is Pastel
Pink comes with Spring
Pink is a Mood
Hey Ho!
Bling Bling!

Many a first kiss
I have had during dating
None compare to one

Kissing my ex-wife
For the date that will go down
In my history

We were looking at
Two water turtles sunning
On the rocks of the

Confluence of two
Rivers – the Sacramento
And American

I imagined those
Two turtles were her and me
On that summer day

Getting romantic
Watching boats on the river
Seeing the drawbridge

Take their stature in
Yachts too tall to clear the bridge
Now they safely pass

My ex-wife and I
Sat on a wooden bench on
The wooden boardwalk

Old Sacramento
For both tourists and locals
And those on a date

Those such as ourselves
We felt comfortable in
Each other’s presence

Our arms got closer
Shyly meeting to see if
There’s a connection

Our hands met and touched
Interlaced fingers, pure joy
Nothing else like it

I want this moment
To last for my entire
Lifetime with her hand

Oh, it gets better
Our waiting lips meet for our
Satiating kiss

It was more than that
I felt ecstatic and high
There were fireworks

Behind my blue eyes
Really blue, not just my name
So many colors

Those pyrotechnics
In my imagination
So very vibrant

Filled with so much joy
Is this the best moment of
My entire life?

My present, past, and
The rest of my existence?
I can’t know for sure

Eighteen years later
It still came close to the best
But graduating

Summa cum laude
Was probably the moment
Of my best triumph

But damn, that kiss came
Pretty darn close to the best
Snippet of my life

Five years ago, we
Separated, then divorced
But our first kiss is

Indelibly etched
Seared into the recesses
Of my existence

Will any first kiss
Ever be better than the
One I had with her?

I have had many
In the past five years
None of them come close

To the pure joy shared
Between my ex-wife and me
She has since moved on

And now I sit here
Crafting this haiku series
Wondering if it

Will soon be my turn
To have a comparable
Kiss with someone else

Create something built
To last more than thirteen years
Give me joy again

Hush now child, we are going on a journey.
We will be free from turmoil on our home soil.
We will seek asylum in the land of the free,
No worries of war in our far away home.

The waves may rise, the winds may howl,
But hold my hand, we’ll make it somehow.
Through deserts, through forests, we walk unseen,
Chasing the promise of a brighter dream.

Hush now child, don’t cry from the cold,
The road is hard, but our hearts are bold.
The stars above guide our weary souls,
Through shadows and doubt, we chase our goals.

They call it freedom, they call it hope,
A place where we’re given a chance to cope.
But oh, the cost, the burdens we bear,
Strangers in a land that may not care.

Hush now child, keep your head held high,
Even if the questions start to pry.
“Why are you here? What do you seek?”
They don’t see the strength in the tired and meek.

We carry the weight of our stories untold,
Of villages burned, of nights so cold.
Yet still, we rise, through fear and disdain,
Planting new roots in soil laced with pain.

Hush now child, for someday they’ll see,
Our struggle, our fight, our legacy.
We build with hope, with tears, with love,
For a future we dream, as vast as the skies above.

Fleeting, but oh so fine
Is that illusive spirit joy.
Like finding gold in a mine
When expecting only alloy.
Difficult to cultivate.
Impossible to fabricate.
Though to many it’s innate,
It’s a puzzle trying to locate.

I’ve seen it in a child’s eye
While discovering new life –
A beetle, bear, or dragonfly,
The wonder is so rife.
I found it in a hummingbird,
When I was virtuous and young.
We spoke not a single word,
But to our souls we sung.

It grabs me by the heart
When music takes the reigns.
Of this world I am a part
As I dance in rhythmic refrains.
Classical, rock, or blues –
They all push me past the pain.
Each note that’s spun subdues
The ruckus in my brain.

Sometimes it slips inside me,
With that funny feeling – love,
Consuming me with giddy glee
Like the laughing stars above.
It warms me to my core
To hold my beloved close and tight.
Always hungry, wanting more
Before the moment’s taken flight.

But if you want to find it,
Don’t strain or look too hard.
Regardless of your charm or wit,
You may have to drop your guard,
For joy is free to those who open
Their head and heart and soul.
Then you must throw a little hope in
To capture it in whole.

I can barely breathe—
the weight of this world is suffocating,
pressing against my soul,
choking the hope out of me.

I hear my ancestors weeping,
their cries carried in the wind,
echoing through time,
through the blood-soaked soil they once stood upon.
They fought, they bled,
so we could rise, so we could be free,
so we could have a chance at a life they only dreamed of.
But look at us now—
divided, shattered, drowning in hate.

I want to scream,
I want to cry until the heavens shake,
until the earth opens and swallows this pain whole.
So much beauty in this world,
yet it is poisoned with rage,
tainted with the hands of those who refuse to see
that we are all flesh, all breath, all bone.

This cannot be what the Creator intended—
for us to build walls instead of bridges,
to raise our fists instead of our hearts,
to bury love beneath the weight of our differences.

Why can’t we love?
Why can’t we see that none of us are staying?
That no skin color, no wealth, no power
will save us from the grave?
In the end, we all return to the dust.
So why do we waste this gift of life on hatred?

I close my eyes,
and I pray that one day,
we will wake up and see each other
not as enemies, not as strangers,
but as souls—
woven from the same light,
created to love,
not to destroy.

There are love stories written in trembling hands,
inked in the quiver of first kisses,
sealed in the breathless hush of two souls colliding,
and I have read them all.

I have listened to the whispered nostalgia
of friends tracing their heartbreaks like constellations,
each one a wound they wear with pride—
because at least they got to bleed for something.
At least they got to hold love in their hands,
even if it crumbled like ash.

But where is the story for the ones who never got their first love?
The ones who sat in the audience,
watching the grand performance of devotion,
but never once felt the warmth of the stage lights?
Where is the song for the girl who has never been sung about?

I am that girl.
The one who was never the frantic “I can’t live without you.”
Never the name whispered in the dark to calm a racing heart.
Never the soft morning gaze of someone who sees the rest of their life in my eyes.

And it hurts.
God, it hurts.

To know that someone once ached for him,
that he has been loved in a way I never will be.
That he has a past where he was the sun,
while I am left wondering if I am even a flickering candle.

And I tell myself maybe love is coming.
Maybe one day, someone will look at me
the way poets describe—
with hunger, with reverence, with trembling hands reaching for something sacred.

But what if they don’t?
What if I am the space between heartbeats,
the silence between love songs,
the person who is always there but never the one?

What if I leave this world having never been
the reason someone couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep,
couldn’t breathe without saying my name?

What if I die and the world keeps turning,
unmoved by the absence of someone
who was never truly held?

And maybe that’s the part that breaks me the most.

Not just that I have never been adored,
but that I don’t know if I ever will be.

It was a beautiful day when I talked to you
That was a great feeling of something new
It was a beautiful day when I heard your voice
One that I wonder if I had a choice
It was a beautiful day when we met
A beautiful day that took away my breathe
Those were beautiful days I visited
I reminisce and sometimes I miss it
Those were beautiful times I looked into your eyes
What pretty pictures imprinted in my mind
Those were beautiful things we shared
I just wanted to tell you here
You were my everything

The moment they thought DEI meant Black or queer,
was the moment they lost the war,
so far removed from the struggle,
like history ain’t at their door.

They forget—
they were once as poor,
if not standing beside us, knee-deep in the same war.
Before race, there was class,
before color, there was caste,
yet the blame never lands
on the hands that built the past.

The structure was forged with intent,
inequality chiseled in stone.
Yet the victims bear the weight—
never the architects on their thrones.

We ain’t choose to be here,
displaced, discarded, denied.
And the land? It was never theirs to give,
yet they legislate stolen soil with pride.

And now, the world shakes,
coups play out in real-time,
yet we watch—numb, scrolling,
like history don’t rhyme.

There is no ethical billionaire,
only loopholes and ledgers,
only tax cuts dressed as charity,
only wealth hoarded in hidden treasures.

To be ethical is to see,
to hold every class in your care.
But justice ain’t profitable,
so tell me—who’s really aware?

He started to mimic the cries of a child
The birds started their clicking sounds
Warnings in another language
Gun shots in the far distance
Still not home

The couch. I bought the big leather couch, chair, and ottoman back in 1999 or 2000 I think. I was working on the boats at the time. Had a few boatguy friends that would come right before or right after season to hang out… some pretty big guys. I bought the big furniture in a time when you could get that set for $1500 I think. And it was built to last. I still can’t believe how well it was made compared to what you get now for the same price.

A crush and my brother helped me get it into the house..and it wasn’t easy.
When my ex and I bought this house it wasn’t any easier getting it in here.

Last Spring I tried to get it out of here by myself and quickly realized I might die trying. While it was still standing on end from my attempt at finagling it out the door, I cut out the material on the bottom and saw the bones of it… it was beautiful.. real wood, lots of it… straps were as high quality as the best ratchet straps of today. The springs across the bottom were thick and solid. I cut open the one cushion that had finally broke down, and those springs too, were heavy duty. I ordered a replacement spring pack, which was much lighter built than the original I found, not the old, solid, barely squash support of 25 years ago. I took an awl and sewed the leather back together. I bought a slip cover (pretty nice one) thinking, I could rescue this couch, build it back better and not just toss it away.

As time went by, I just couldn’t sit on it. It sat empty. It looked better on the outside, but it sat like a big ass sad emblem of itself. And it had been ruined from the inside, of another who defiled it.

Gone were the multiple big asses that sat on it, at times slept on it. Gone were the dogs that had curled up on it, scratching it ever so slightly with their paws. Gone were the times I could curl my feet under me, or lay across it with my head in another’s lap watching yet another hunting show…or even better, Walking Dead.

I had hinted to others that I wanted it out, for the past 9 or so months. No one took the hint. I think some things are just meant to be done on your own. So the other night….

I cut it’s coverings off… razor to leather… the leather on couches from back then was much better, thicker, more like hide. Cut out enough foam to get to those nice big chunks of wood that were it’s frame with the skillsaw. Cut it into two manageable pieces… scooted it out the door (still had to get the right angle to make it happen).. pushed it down the stairs, and dragged it to the the far end of the yard.

As I poured some expired peanut oil on it, and put a couple of dry pieces of wood in a cardboard box in the middle of it to get it started…. a sadness engulfed me… as the fire would soon engulf the couch. I had started this with anger, but it ended with grief. Like for real grief.

As I watched that fire (I couldnt believe how fast it went up), the last 24 years of time with this couch went through me.. along with the 21 years with him….it still took a couple of hours to realize that it was just time for it to go, and for me to let go of the idea that I had made it better, built it back better, and to let go of the idea that I could ever sit on it in comfort again.

It was grief.

Then, today someone mentioned to me that I had burnt a couch on the evening of the Super Moon. So there’s that.

Mirror Mirror on the wall,
Can I ask a few questions?
From different angles,
Different times &
Different spaces,
As my mind processes
This energy I’m emitting.
Looking for my reflection, perception
Always looking different, the
Human I’m becoming is
Constantly growing.While Looking
Through different angles,
Different times & different spaces.
Acknowledgement of growth
So I ask my mirrored self,
Where else can we go?
With the space & time.
What are we gonna do
With them both?
To create a better brighter image.
Mirror mirror on the wall
Why and how do
We reflect these images.

Dear, Unsealers:

I know, I’m a day behind as it’s the second day of February.

But it’s time to welcome in February all the same. After a whirlwind December and a long, drawn-out January.

This is the shortest month on the calendar. Twenty-eight days. Here’s hoping this month isn’t nearly as eventful as the last one was.

With that being said, it’s time to welcome in the new month…

Welcome, February!

After the longest January imaginable
The shortest month of the year opens the door

Twenty-eight new days ahead
Days of love, kindness, and compassion abound
Honoring the saints, Brigid of Kildare and Valentine

Of reminding ourselves
We’re in this world together
Through all of the twists and turns that come along

Days of finding voices and verses
With the Poetic Summer fast approaching

Even if the weather outside still reminds us of winter
There’s hope of brighter days coming our way

A blank canvas for the month ahead
One that goes by in the blink of an eye

He’s air

Not the air you breathe

He’s the air that gently brushed your cheek on that perfect spring morning

The warm air that feels like it’s been long awaited for on the first day of summer

The air that warms you because of the bonfire in the fall

The sweet air that brings you a step back and makes you realize what life is all about

The air that makes you see all the beauty everywhere