Not That Kind of Love Poem (A Reading of “5-7-5”)

5-7-5 (you can find the full poem here) was written with a girl in mind. Last night, something happened. I merged Christina’s audio reading of the poem with a photo of a boy and some background music. The result was something unintentional yet wonderfully and indescribably different. I will never see 5-7-5 the same way again.…

Tempest In My Coffee Cup

YOUR COFFEE MUG still sits where you left it, half-empty, atop your favorite porcelain, brim smudged with a curious combination of dried froth and pink lipstick. It’s my little testimony, you know, to a life well led and a union I thought was blessed. I never had the heart to move it even as it perches precariously on…

The Scent of Cinnamon and Coffee on My Hair

IT IS official. I have forgotten how to write. It didn’t take more than a sentence to know that I won’t be getting anywhere. My thoughts could no longer command these brittle fingers to pry themselves open. Perhaps they have gotten so accustomed to wielding a pen that jabbing at a Chiclet keyboard seems so…

First Light

“It is even quieter at dawn. I sit out back and I write stuff, like stories. That’s easy.  I don’t know, it’s like at that time of the day, because everyone’s still asleep, all the best thoughts haven’t been taken yet.” – House at the End of the Street

5-7-5

I SEE HER for what she is — uneven, a runaway three-line poetry.  Lesser minds have plunged her depths only to break the surface with questioning faces.  All these years they never understood for they saw her differently, an odd number in the realm of pairs and parallelisms. She was often measured, but in their eyes…

Streaks

SOME PEOPLE can’t write and paint their flats at the same time.  I’m one of them. (but soon…) artwork credit: “We Who See,’ mixed media, by Maranda Pleasant.