Massachusetts- A haiku

Massachusetts. Sigh.

It takes up four syllables.

And it is my home.


When Life Gives You Molasses, You Make Molasses Cookies- A poem

The rain falls down

upon the window. I

watch as each drop

travels vertically down

the glass curtain before

my eyes.  They were so

fixated on the sky’s

tears that it took

a moment to realize that

in the distance the

sky was on fire.  The

ball of light was fighting

her way out of the dense

cotton fluff made of water.


If the sun can break through

the heavy, molasses times

where it’s hard to move

and carry on,

then so can I.

Interesting take…

Thought Catalog

I don’t do drugs.

That said I made and brought about a dozen weed infused rice krispie treats to Coachella weekend.

Let me reiterate, I don’t really do drugs.

Last year I fell into a proverbial windfall of marijuana when my old boss moved to Australia and bestowed upon me most of her stash, as well as her impeccable recipe for weed butter based rice krispie treats. In fact, I still have a jar of the stuff living in my kitchen cabinet, accompanied by a really nice pipe left by a loser I dated for a couple weeks.

Let me be clear, I have never purchased drugs, or drug related paraphernalia, and yet I have a whole cabinet shrine. It’s just that I don’t really do drugs. I never have.

At Coachella two years ago, my best friend and I had discussed the possibility of taking REAL drugs, like MDMA…

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Reminiscing the Devil: A Poem

There was a time,

months ago, where

I’d spend my

free time with

you. Inhaling your

intoxicating smoke,

devouring your

venomous words.


Now I spend my

idle time in

solitude. Inking

up blank pages

—pages like me,

barren and empty—

blindly to keep the

ghost of you alive.


But who am I

to possess that power?

To keep you—this demon—alive

when you are meant

to be purged and exorcised?


It’s because we’re all sinners

We all love to keep the

Devil alive to remind us

what we have been through.

This article describes me perfectly.

Thought Catalog

1. You take a pen and paper with you everywhere, sometimes even into bed with you, just in case you have an idea at three in the morning that absolutely must be remembered. That idea never usually ends up good, but like everything you say when you’re stoned, it sounded very good at the time.

2. You really, really want to buy a typewriter, even though you never expect to actually use it. You just want a typewriter because you’re one of the 10 people in the world who still finds them romantic and sexy. All of those people are writers.

3. When you date someone and they say that they majored in “English” or “Poetry,” you’re instantly excited but then exceedingly nervous. Why? Because you’ll eventually be expected to read some of their poetry — something they really love and don’t show to a lot of people — and…

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Man of Stone: A Collection of Tanka Poems


This sculpture is man.

Represents artist’s father.

My own comes to mind.

I simply compare the two.

Both men are made up of stone.


Hand covering mouth.

Other on foot; sits on rock.

Art is called “Despair”.

It’s true! Eyes look washed away.

But I add the word regret.


He’s too sad to bear.

I wonder what he despairs.

Is it fixable?

He’s alone for a reason.

He can only fix himself.


A thought comes to mind.

Did Rimmer try to fix him?

I strived to; I failed.

Which made me come to realize.

Some of us cannot be saved.