Red brick and weathered stoneCreate the halls of my prison.The shadows speak in riddlesAnd sunlight is a dim memoryWithin these hallowed halls. Inmates pass ...

Is it really poetry if we're forced to create it? Only the poet knows.

How can I loveIn a world full of hate? How can I growWhen I’m crushed by the weight? How can I learnWhen ignorance is ...

Beside the brilliant babbling brook, bees begin their dayFlitting between the fragrant flowers, they fertilize awayGently generating the next generation, they give it all ...

Words are cheap, and too many of them can give you a brain freeze!

TheOld YearIs finished.She closed her eyesAnd wrapped herself inA robe of ice and wind.As she dreamed of renewal,We shivered in the frigid nightAnd cried ...

Four reasons to call on your ancestors.

A poem about dealing with creative burnout

What makes a life worth celebrating?

Will you open the door of empathy?