Fly Home To Me


Belgium, Antwerp


To love
To be loved
To want love
What more is there
No matter my state, introvert, single, independent
I love, I am loved, I want to be loved
My arms wide come to me
Fly home

A quiet silence between us
An escapable fire in the dark
Moonlit warmth I surround you
Let’s rest together and find peace
My arms wide I will never let go
And in the end
After a lifetime together
We will fly home

Old Friends

Old Friends

Castiglion Fiorentino, Italy


When I think back, it was during my study abroad travels that I first started writing poetry. I always traveled with my sketchbook, a lesson my professor instilled in me, which at this point was filled with sketches of buildings, until the last week when I finally took a moment to slow down. Wanting to remember everything, I took a moment to open myself up to the sounds of the world and just listen and watch. 


Sipping my coffee, I watch as it sinks, lower, lower
People come in and out
Old friends
I feel the worn spine of my book, turning pages, passing time
A bit of foam lingers on my lips
Fingers warmed by their tight embrace
Conversations flow freely
A babies cry, newspapers crumple, mugs clink, laughter erupts
A Tuesday morning
Old friends
I linger in the corner, peering over my book
Language that I do not understand, people I do not know
Unfamiliar, yet I feel peace
I do not want to leave, I linger
My coffee mug turns cold, my book closes
It is time to leave my old friends

One Belief


Oahu, Hawaii

We had arrived an hour early to church through the confusion of time change. There was no one but us three in the church. I was a bit fidgety but there they were, right and left of me, both stoic…


We gather at church a little early
Sitting in the quiet
Somber, peaceful, silent
My dad with his head hung low
Mom with her eyes to the Gospel

I sit and I watch
Each deep in thought
For a moment the world is stilled
My mother clings to her religion through books, truth
Words that fill, satisfy
She accepts all and gives everything
Walking in search of Father who will heal her sins

I sit and I watch
With his head hung low, eyes closed shut, my father prays
An exhaustion so pure his body gives in
He has worn a different path
Searching not in books but in his heart
Solitude and meditation are his links

It is beautiful witnessing two beliefs
Both strong and powerful
Pure and genuine
A love rooted deep through living
Having known dark and light

I sit, I watch, I wonder
How can a belief be questioned
How can there be uncertainties
When your two constants have surrendered so completely
Where they go I will follow
It is not a blind following to be shamed
But rather a belief in of itself
To follow with all your heart
To love, to trust, to faithfully leap

I sit, I watch, I follow

The Descent

20171128_144807 (2)

Sedona, Arizona

Thanksgiving 2017 found my family in the midst of the Sedona Mountains. In search of its famous vortexes we found instead a man who carried hearts made from the earth. One each he gave us and in turn we offered him curious glances. Upon climbing further we found him perched atop the highest peak playing music for all to hear. He sang out for peace, joy, healing, and compassion. When he came down to greet us once more we were sure we had met an angel and had found our long awaited vortex.


When the world seems too big Mother Earth offers comfort
All we need is look
When the world’s flying by Father Sky offers respite
All we need is ask
Find a seat next to Her and look up to Him

Praying for peace of light in this darkened world
It’s shadow will never reach this spot
Quiet stillness accompanies this vast landscape
Nary a footfall reaches my ears

Atop a mountain sits an angel summoning musical notes of beauty
He calls to the land, to the souls, calling forth our eyes, ears and mind
As we rise, as we soar, we abandon our bodies
For in this light we see clearly
Arms outstretched as we ride the notes in the sky
For peace, joy, healing and compassion

Feet settling on the ground our journey ends
In the beginning we climbed searching
In the end we descend having been found

Is This A Dream

During my study abroad travels in college it came time to say goodbye to Italy. I climbed a hill in the early morning to my favorite look out point. Sitting beneath a bricked archway I looked out, closed my eyes and breathed in the fresh mountain air. Silence all around, the fog already starting to fade, I took out my journal to write for the last time…

A muted peace in the air
Both saddened and alive with this final climb
Fingertips brushing, memorizing aged textures
My familiar spot, a familiar friend
This is home

Sitting here, hoping, praying
Is it a dream
My days are fading
The fog gathers, here, there, beyond my view
I am leaving tomorrow
I will fade like the morning fog
It was all a dream
Will I remember this place
Will it remember me
My traveled path leads away
Now it is time to return
Will I remember it
Will I ever return

This climb steeper, my breathing fills the morning air
Gray strands dancing, tickle my smiling face
Familiar rough textures reflecting back on my skin
At last, my old friend
I am home

via Daily Prompt: Foggy

<a href=””>Foggy</a&gt;





Corpus Christi, Texas

Beautiful in life, we live amidst the trees
Swaying with the winds, glowing in the hues
But a moment we balance
When in time we fall, it is not in finality
Caught in open arms or among the shores of creation
Carried away, a beautiful goodnight

To all those who have closed their eyes to this world
Who will truly see when they open them again

<a href=””>Transient</a&gt;