The Keychain

The keychain hung from the hook

On the wall next to the jacket rack

Worn and torn as it was always with her;

Sparkling of favorite colors in the right light of silver and blue;

Though showing signs of use and age.

A niece who be-gifted for Christmas

Heartfelt reminders of family all in a mermaid’s tale;

Those we cherished and how we are always together;

In small of ways even when we are apart.

Her Type

I hated feeling like I had to change. 

That I had to censor and alter 

My thoughts and opinions that kept swiriling.

The things I wanted and wished for 

Dreaming big and bigger ideas. 

It whispered about a type.

I was intrigued because of the conversation

As it was so transparent it was like

Hearing voices so causal in conversing

That it struck by on repeat 

In wanting to know the answers. 

Questions lingered in connection 

To words said with such a heavy heartfelt sigh

Like he knew her at all through a picture. 

Last Years Passing

There were days when it all felt so heavy 

Like the rain played a perfect part in echoing the sadness. 

Wondering if this was why Mr. Twain like the Northwest. 

The low fog that hung thick and heavy over the rough waters. 

Seasonal depression seem to hit extra hard

In shifting through the wreckage that came with this last years passing. 

Mountain views and river sides do not even look the same; 

Life kept going and it did not even seem to matter;

Nothing seemed to matter or feel the same. 

Uncertainty came once again with so many missing answers. 

A big hole that seemed to concave with each breath;

Lost rhythm and sounds that seemed muffled by the down pour.


He wanted her. He wanted her hand. 

What he aimed for every morning tying up his boots. 

She was the fire to the ice cold snow storms. 

A shot of whiskey aged ten years. 

He would chase her to the ends of the earth. 

Forever he dared and promised, 

If he died a tragic death that he would come back. 

Find a way for a second chance. 

To ask her for her hand in another life time. 

He loved her from the moment he saw her. 

The kind of feeling that only hits you once, 

If you’re lucky. That kind of love that burns,

Brighter than the sun but hits like an eclipse.

Slowly almost unnoticed, until realizing, 

And wondering why it is dark at noon.  

Just Love

It just felt so easy. 

Up in this cloud 

Where love could bloom.

There was so much wrong in this world.

Plagues and poverty. Hunger and insanity.

It wasn’t a break up or despair. 

Sadness or misery, or things just not meant to be. 

Rather just lost until it came rushing; 

Crumbling every belief that it could be anyone else. 

So many other things that could spark inspiration,

To bring awareness. 

Instead finding that I could not stop writing about love.