Posted in April 2013

4.27.13 (3 Haiku)

[ i ] Large brown patches in a freshly mown lawn, a brand from last summer’s heat [ ii ] Scoops of ice cream in bowls make teenagers forget they are teenagers. [ iii ] The experience of writing and growing: young poets’ true trophy.


They arrest their own development wearing rainbow thick, synthetic hair shackled to their scalps, locking their bowed heads in solitary confinement; they strip themselves of dignity, peeling it away in waxen translucent layers like old snake skin left in forgotten corners; they deny their own growth, these butterflies deferred, prefer larval stages and the discomfort … Continue reading


With fists, burning and clenched around white lumps of lit coal, she holds on to high school memories squeezing in attempts at reformation, wanting to remake messy carbon into crystalline cool her past, a needle stuck in deep vinyl groove, playing a looped song set to the tune of warped ignorance for she refuses past … Continue reading

4.24.13 (3 Haiku)

[ i ] Cars speed through muddy pools of rain water, splashing empty sidewalks clean. [ ii ] If April showers truly bring flowers, then what does April ice bring? [ iii ] Students understand violent Greek tragedies, but are unimpressed.

4.23.13 (Sonnet)

She has a strong hatred for the word “thick”; it fills her mouth like coffee brewed too strong and dark; the word burns– a fire on a wick  melting a candle of memories long  thought lost:  of maternal pinches on hips– critiques of a body exceeding molds of thin teenage shadows; but on my lips … Continue reading


Tucked behind the dog ears of unnumbered pages in books that have yet to be read and studied; Folded and hidden along the seams of pockets in jeans to be worn later during mid-semester treks across sparse quadrangles; placed into covert suitcase compartments, we give them pieces of us, unasked for care packages, gift wrapped … Continue reading

4.21.13 (3 Haiku)

[ i ] Professor feedback: electric comments; English teacher is student. [ ii ] Dog’s paw prints on frosted lawn in April lawn tell of a game of fetch. [ iii ] The weight of morning coffee feels heavy, full, and hot upon my tongue.

4.20.13 (A Slam Coach’s Lament)

I have taken these diamonds, dimmed their fire like the dying stars of incomplete constellations; one by one, I stole and placed them under the weight of stanzas, stuck them between the slow and heavy tectonic plates of pens and paper and watched their elemental chemistry change under the pressure of continents and words I … Continue reading

4.19.13 (Snooze)

Through our closed curtain Eden, serpentine rain drops smell stark  like early morning and slither with a regulate, hushed rhythm violating our placid, deep pools of sleep sending miniature tsunamis crashing into our comfort,  eroding the dense weave of cotton sheets leaving us bare, cold, and clinging together two magnets attracted to the warmth of … Continue reading

4.18.13 (3 Haiku)

[ i ] They read and re-read Wordsworth, going from confused to understanding. [ ii ] Students learn story of Oedipus; new meaning to mommy issues. [ iii ] Hidden in morning, Dandelions play possum; ruin perfect lawn.