sometimes when I’m not paying attention, I
am brought to a moment, passed
when my legs ran against beach sand
racing towards waves, relentless

a memory just barely out of grasp
of being young and being free
from obligation, rising rent prices
career leaps and bounds

I’m getting farther and farther from the shoreline
I’m lost in something
more sad than nostalgia —

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The fondest dream alights lightly on my shoulder

snagging my interest and thought process

then flits away like a kite bobbing

taking me to the wonderland of utopia

my heart shouts hurray

so sure that I would clinch the rarely possible feat

of making an impossible aspiration come true

but just as quickly the dream vanishes

I am left grappling with

the false sense of hope it bestowed

haplessly I watch it flutter helplessly

before spiralling into oblivion

harsh reality taunts me

orders me to forget the extinct flame

but I cannot let go

for if there are no dreams

what will man live for?

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davidbrucehaiku: DON’T CRY, LITTLE ONE

Winter Days Ignite Poetry

Steps In Between

winter poems 2020 Snowy-Day-Lowell-Birge-Harrison-oil-painting Snowy Day, Oil Painting by Lowell Birge Harrison (https://www.oceansbridge.com/shop/styles/impressionism/snowy-day)

 January has unveiled its raw winter-ness. For Seattle, that blast of snowy chill equates to a romanticized sense of wonderland…well, for the writer in me. Maybe because I grew up where wintery-season months matched splendidly with all the storybooks from my childhood…snowfall under lamp posts, icicle-clad roof eaves…and my dad bundled under the warmth of his red flannel shirt, shoveling the drive.

winter poems 2020

A favorite memory, relived year after year in Eastern Washington, is the mounds of snow that grew like a mountain in our yard. After every plowing of our driveway, fresh snow accumulated in heaps. My sister and I built snowmen, and snow-bunnies, and snow caves big enough to sit in and drink hot chocolate from a thermos. We worked all day creating our masterpieces.

Yet, as much as I can still feel the heat of the cocoa, even…

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Future Paths


windingpath_000 Photographer Unknown

We know not

The correct path we should take

Nor, the obstacles

That get in our way

Many of us are blind

Until, a suddenly happens

The fog dissappears

And we see a ray of light

Never lingering long

Just a whisper of

An ancient ryhyme

Coming down from above

The tune is sweet

May we hear it

This is the way

Walk ye in it

Oh, but beware

Like the coin

With two sides

The other option can be filled with lies

May our souls remember

What our eyes have forgotten

That we be not ensnared

And are dreams not hearken

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