There Is Pleasure In The Pathless Woods

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.


by Lord George Gordon Byron


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Coughee Shop

On the floor tiles fake class
and uncaring patrons go
stomp stomp stomp

Furrowed brows
clutch coffee cups
and backs bend over
mobile devices, in touch

Anonymity in public
averting one's eyes to rule one's own world
introverts sing
cough cough cough 



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Writing is…



Scrambled words trampled on a page by ballpoint brigands.

Ink swords break barriers and smother syntax with ruthless inhibition.

Letters conjoined into thoughtless strings, only to be rent once more.

Then from the ruins of language emerges something alive: a patchwork quilt, still torn.

Sewn together and taught to fly, the idea gets its wings.

The phoenix rises from the ashes

and the story from a dream.


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No Time

Children’s laughter echoes off
patter-feet-ed floors

Crayons guard stairwells
Peanut butter coats the doors

They’re tiny and innocent
bringing smiles to stern eyes

But mom stands before
laundry in a heap
She won’t remember this
for lack of sleep

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Rush Hour

Soft silky snowy fingers
tremble in the wind –
clumsily tugging the door open.

You’re waiting for me there
across the winding icy river
of honking ducks and red tail feathers.

I’ll be with you tonight
if I can learn to wrangle the beast
and find warmth in car floors and seats.

Will you be unlocked
can you reach out to heat my hands
and fill my cold soul with sweet romance?

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The Flight of the Innocent


Nietzschean philosophies sew our thoughts to wings,
unfolding minds away from mundane and human beings.

We catapult far from ground, for the sake of reaching stars,
yet whatever it is we sought out floats in hazy dream shards.

Lost in the heavens, we breathe in Truth and Meaning -
Not knowing what the question was, not caring if we're Being.

As the high becomes the low and the world is falling fast,
the rush comes back with Purpose; the Question with a gasp.

One among another, looking up with amnesiac desire.
Why didn't I write it down? Why didn't I fly higher?

Curiosity is alight when feet touch hard ground,
but higher Understanding precludes taste, sight, touch, or sound.

"Why does man not see things?" with angst we ask ourselves.
The Observer Effect's in motion as our subjectivity overwhelms.
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