Category: Poetry

Winter is the End (a poem)

The Long Wait

Photo: “The Long Wait” by spaceamoeba, Creative Commons, some rights reserved.

Winter is the End

Winter is the end
of all things. It is
frozen starlight
and empty trees
forgotten promises
and shivering dreams.

Winter is where the world goes
to die. It is the closing-up of earth
the shutting-down of light
the endless chill of infinite night.

Winter is when we turn
inside, where fires burn
and time crawls, too slow.

We scrape at the future, but
change is spent; winter
is the end. Yet the world turns
the sun burns, and
we emerge again.

Catwoman (a poem)

Catwoman by Sean Nash

Catwoman artwork by Sean Nash.

Catwoman

Call me a villain
because I roar
when I scratch your face
and even the score.

Claws, paws, teeth, and hiss
Putting bullies down is bliss

He says no guns, no fun, no death;
revenge is justice at its best.

Fur, purr, curl, and stretch
I am not your villainess
I am freedom, I am night
Feline, fierce, and fixed to fight.

His symbol stretches across the stars
But I’m your hero when it’s dark.


Special thanks to artist Sean Nash for being so generous with his incredible artwork.

New Poetry in Convergence (Winter 2012)

I’ve been writing poetry for a long time, but I haven’t been very diligent about submitting my work to literary magazines and journals. I’ve only submitted a handful of pieces over the years. Earlier this year, I submitted a few pieces and two of them were selected for publication by convergence: an online journal of poetry and art. This is my first official publication credit, which is pretty exciting. I’ve included the text of both poems below.
convergence winter 2012BANKING MIDNIGHT

Leaves twist in the autumn breeze,
tortured servants of the season. They still
on winter’s first chill night, ice hinting
at the edge of a sharp star. Shadows lengthen,
light posts awaken, just a flicker
in the fog.

The pads of the wolf’s paws are silent
on pavement, quiet as nature’s blink.
He wanders the streets in his mangled coat,
blood warming his teeth the way fresh sex
tastes like copper and earth. Tender foe,
he curls in the snow, a hot whisper
in the freeze.


YOU ARE NOT THE MOON

I’ve been sucking on American Spirits
through the night you abandoned, like a star
trails fading into the tar-sky.

You are not the steady moon
you claim to be
watchful, reluctantly circling.

Wretched winter broke the spell
icy dawn slipped between my sheets
where the hours creaked
my eyes cracked
against the breaking snow-light.