Saturday, November 25


I'd rather be jealous
I'd rather want what you have than have what you want
I'd rather the world look down on me than me look down on the world
When you're on the bottom, you're looking up
When you lack, you strive for more
But when you have everything?

Monday, April 24


Let them all down
Let them all drown
You don’t have to go anywhere
 Slip to a frown

Let them all scream
Destroy all their dreams
Vain repetition, why do you care?
This isn’t your scene

Fly away, fly away and be still today

Shared at dVerse Poet's Pub for their Monday Quadrille challenge. To view more 44 word poems or to participate yourself, head over to the Pub. 

Saturday, April 22

Mi Young Lee

The beauty of you lies in your symmetry
The equal portions of grace and disdain
The balance you bring of sane and insane
I like your troubles as well as your triumphs
A masterpiece in cools and hots
The beauty you bring to the ugly of me

This poem was written in response to the poetry challenge at Imaginary Garden

A plague on all our houses

Dear Diary, 

The sky was dark again today. It reminds me of an impending storm, and sure enough people walk around with umbrellas, as if they expect rain to come pouring down. The truth is, it's been many years since anyone has felt a cool drop fall from the sky. There is a storm that hangs overhead, but it is nowhere connected to water. Soon the frogs will fall-a plague upon all our houses. We were warned before, but did anyone listen? I tried to leave the city, but the clouds just followed me. An ever-expanding blackness, promising to stretch out until the ends of the earth, so I turned back. Better to face the unknown from the vantage point of home. The worst part is waiting. Waiting for that first disgusting “plop” which you know is coming. Maybe the umbrellas do provide protection. 

This piece of micro-fiction was written in response to Saturday Mix at Mindlovemisery's Menangerie

Thursday, April 20

Crow on the shoulder of the road

The crow on the shoulder of the road 
stood unmoved by the roar of the car 
a car that had traveled the world with 
a man marred and afraid of his past 
the crow flapped his wings in the wind,
hopped two times in pursuit of the car
but the man never knew about the crow.

This poem was written in response to Fireblossom Friday and shared at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads. To read more crow inspired poetry or share your own crow inspired work, head over to the imaginary garden. 

Sunday, April 16

Poetry for Sale!

This past week I found myself stranded miles away from home without my wallet or a penny to my name! I did however have my dear notebook and pen tucked away in my purse which made me wonder if I couldn't write up a few poems and sell them to those in passing. While I never worked up the nerve to try this theory out, I did write a "Poem for Tourists." I'd like to imagine that someone would have paid a quarter or so for this memento.

Poem for tourists:

Sarasota sweetness
salty water laps my feet
as I walk the coastal miles
of sandy white beach

I wave away the weary
I get rid of all my fears
and let myself sink
into the paradise which is here

Sunlight bathes my family
the ocean plays our song
I grasp to keep this memory
in my heart forever long

Thursday, April 13

That's Cool

I have a love-hate relationship with couple puns. You've probably heard them before or maybe seen them printed onto the novelty t's at your local Target. "You are my butter half", "olive you", "you'll always have a pizza of my heart!" Sure, they're cute, but they're also pretty corny. As I've gotten a little older, I've learned to appreciate a little corny, but there was a time when it was all about the cool.

You know the days, I'm sure you suffered them too. The teenage years when rolling up your pants the wrong way could have a detrimental impact on the complexities of the fragile teen-popularity hierarchy. Other than making sure your hair was parted the right way, your eyeliner was drawn on perfectly, and your sarcasm was pitched in the correct tone exuding the appropriate blend of mock and contempt, it was elemental for you to associate yourself with the right kinds of people if you had any chance of being considered to be anywhere even near to a degree of cool. Luckily, being a member of my high school marching band gave me a head start to this sacrosanct achievement as it opened up the door to becoming friends with the sort of people who had just the right amount of cool and swagger to elevate me above the social pariah stratum. Come on, you know the band geeks were the best!

One friend, in particular, really helped lift my "cool" levels up. Andrea was an upperclassman and yet she spoke to me. Better yet, she asked me to hang out with her, at her house, with her cool older sister and sister's friends who were in- college! Can you imagine a pimple-faced high-schooler shooting the breeze with some sexy intellectuals sipping rum and coke? I tossed my hair a bit while Andrea stood, leaning on the kitchen counter at just enough of an angle to convey that cool feigned disinterest that made her look wiser and more sophisticated than what you'd expect from a 17 year old girl.

Andrea let me into her world and for a time we were inseparable- two peas in a pod, you might say.

It was Andrea who I turned to whenever high school love broke my heart. It was Andrea who I called whenever I had a great idea and needed a sounding board. She was my peanut to my butter, my star to my burst, my flip to my flop. And the feeling was mutual. Andrea opened her heart to me. She shared her deepest fears and greatest secrets.  At this point, cool had nothing to do with it. We had seen the best and worst of each other. There's nothing cool about snot and boogers running out of  your nose when you're sobbing about your parents' divorce. You abandon cool when you're scared and afraid of the future and all you want is a friend who'll be there and tell you "it's gonna be ok," We lifted each other up in genuine sisterhood and friendship, but then it all stopped.

Andrea dropped out of my life like a rat fleeing a sinking ship. She graduated high-school, moved on to college, and didn't want to hear from me ever again. I guess I wasn't cool enough for her anymore? At first, I made excuses. "She's just really busy". "She'll come around". But then I'd run into her and the amount of awkward in the air was enough to suffocate the elephant that was surely standing in the room silently laughing at my attempt to bring things back.

Eventually, I let it go. Things change and you move on. You accept rejection to avoid humiliation. A friendship that had seemed so cool, cooled to the point of suffering frostbite, breaking off, and leaving nothing but a painful memory in its wake.

Friday, January 6

Falling in Love

Image result for tainos

She was the daughter of a caquique. Her hair, dark and flowing against her smooth bronze skin, smelled of honey and cassava. He had no hope of catching her eye as a naboria, a member of the working class, and yet, as sure as the ocean beat the sandy shores of their island, his heart beat for Ayita alone.

He had first seen her in the light of the morning sun. He was bent down, retrieving a smooth stone he had dropped, when she appeared, illuminated by a ray of light cutting through the thick canopy of branches. Her body was stark, yet she stood confidently, inhaling deep the scent of the woods. She was to him the first woman created and his heart whispered a pledge to her. From today until the end of time, I will be yours.

Kaiman picked up a gourd and brought it to his mouth. What could he do to improve his lot? He felt shame for his desires. God would punish him for his greed. Everyone was at peace except him. He could have any woman for a wife, but he wanted what he could not have.


Ayita rose from her hammock. It was early enough that most of her family still slept silently in the comfort of their large caneye. Her father had 30 wives. He was a great caquiqui, wise and handsome. No one suffered lack in their village and his astuteness had protected them from raids from the neighboring Caribs on more than one occasion. She raised her arms up in a gentle stretch before making her way through the maze of sleeping bodies and woven mats laid out on the earthen floor.

On stepping outside of the caneye, she heard her mother call to her, "Ayita, come help me make this bread." Her smile was wide and her eyes shone with joy as she regarded her only daughter. Ayita knelt beside her mother and embraced her warmly. "Good morning, Bibi."

"What plans do you have for today?"

"I wanted to play batey with my brothers. Naniki said she wanted to play too,” she added, mentioning her younger half-sister.

"But won't you get in the way, my butterfly?"

Ayita hugged her mother once more, laughing as she nodded her head. "Of course we'll be in the way!"

"Ah! You mischievous child! Here, you better take some of this cassava  bread with you then," she said, wrapping the bread in a bundle.

"Thank you, Bibi." Ayita smiled, taking the bread.