Chorus of Blue

POEM: And I Regard My Own

Posted by in Poetry, Poetry, Writing

He said,
I just wish I could touch someone’s hand
like I used to.

And I regard my own
with broken electric conduits shrinking and
my heart sending pulses eeking through

I try to open the jar and there’s so much protest
How weak and trembling like children
they retreat.

I just wish I could touch someone’s hand
like I used to.

And I remember when the pencils first began to slip


FREEWRITE: You Write Back

Posted by in Poetry, Poetry, Ten Minutes, Writing

There’s eagerness
I’m grateful I’m not the only one

There has never been much hope for us
But I want to pour my heart out
Like a journal entry

We fish for these connections
                             hands wet in anticipation
So desperate to be loved
or understood

So weary of being 

only desired.


Freewrite: At 33 Now

Posted by in Writing

At 33 now
my body aches
the bend of my elbows
turns my hands cold as ice
my wrists cramp with every mouse click
my fingers stiffen with each key pressed
and my knees, too!
Howling under the desk
and my boney feet, even
so frigid and so hard.
there is no beauty
in a lack of blood flow


Free Write: We Must Learn

Posted by in Writing

We must learn to
love ourselves enough
to be alone
to be happy
in the absence of
and everything
except our own bodies
our own hearts within
our own chests
our own blood
our steady breathing.

We must learn to love
ourselves enough
with a certain curiosity
about our own thoughts
and our own abilities
the unseen potential
of our boundless minds-
To become engrossed in
a conversation
with our souls
and sit back, nodding quietly
by the dialogue.

We must learn to love ourselves
to laugh at ourselves
to examine our breasts, ears,
sharp ankle bones,
with an air of joy and
as if seeing ourselves
for the first time
as if peaking through the curtain
with childish glee
witnessing God’s great work,
in secret,
in progress.

We must learn
until we love ourselves
enough to become familiar
until we love ourselves
to be certain
until we love ourselves enough

to be enough.


Poem: Last Night, a Blood Moon

Posted by in Poetry, Ten Minutes

Last night a blood moon
Super moon eclipse
I watched it dim through a double lens
Until sleep overtook me

We talked about the graptitude of the universe
And minutiae of our existence
Our bodies jutting out into space
And a billion stars-like ghosts lingering

Moons circling suns
Supernova magnetism
Our sun the center of
one of millions

And when the day arrives
Some things will be altered
And others destroyed
The earth folded up, heavens revitalized

We muse of the distance from our heavenly neighbors
Like seeing one another across galaxies of stars
And what if each had a planet to themselves?
Laughter and awe
Gaseous Venus, a paradise we never realized.

The air never cools
We could be out here all evening
And not a single secret of creation
Would ever be compromised

I yearn, in my smallness, to be held
As if at any moment I could float into space
Or dissolve into molecules
And return to the atmosphere

But there is only one chair,
so we talk instead
And I think how base is human love
How simple and unmesmerizing
When considered along side God’s love for His creation

How he hung the moon like a lamp
And painted the sun’s retiring
And gave us endless reflection
In the wide wide world
Insurmountable evidence
in the waves’ constant rising.

Freewrite: Listening

Posted by in Poetry, Writing

I have not known silence:
The dead of space
Where meteors plummet through darkness
Like water drops through black ink
Stealth and undetected
except the trail of light
left glittering.

I sit and meditate on words
Try to to clank two together
and create value, meaning
Reflection of a thoughtful heart
And I consider for a moment,
remarking on the silence.

Then the distant ring of cicadas
crickets, traffic passing through the rain
The fridge’s hum, fluorescent light
computer towers, air conditioning
my arms shifting across my thighs
Cat kneading the couch frame
Soft click of the keyboard
The baby coughing

A whole world littered with sound:

I have never once
stopped listening.


Freewrite: Gary Reads

Posted by in Poetry, Writing

Gary reads and his voice is like wool
Comforting, warm, and deep
Like a rumble in your chest
But softer, more soothing

I think of the little old man
Chain saw in hand
Felling tall, graying pine trees

And for a moment
the scent is here
Crisp, cool, astringent
And slightly sweet

He speaks of his late wife
The little old Asian woman
And I feel sad, consider his son,
Kai, I think…

Hope that he isn’t lonely.