Fall Villanelles

“Reaching Toward the Pyre”

A creative mind may never tire.

Inspiration may hit any moment

Like a smoking branch before the crack of fire.

The angels sing in a holy choir

While humans struggle against the serpent A creative mind may never tire.

Apollo may compose with his golden lyre While humans struggles lay dormant

Like a smoking branch before the crack of fire.

However, to all idols whom we admire, Pain is simply an investment.

For a creative mind to never tire.

As internal conflict rises higher and higher Writing becomes evermore brilliant,

Like a smoking branch before the crack of fire.

And, at any moment, life may expire

Hence why poetry is never vacant:

Before the end, creative minds never tire.

They are like a smoking branch before the crack of fire.

“Friendship Bracelets”

Our bracelets will never be as tightly knotted as before,

Swirling patterns of color once adorned our wrists,

Surely our lives will entwine once more.

We rode our bikes, the world ours to explore,

Free of worries, filled with joy, voices calling to the wind,

Our bracelets will never be as tightly knotted as before.

Suddenly things changed and we weren’t the same anymore,

Sweet effervescence of childhood summers lost,

Surely our lives will entwine once more.

I still hear our laughter from behind the door,

Inside your old room, we shared secrets under the cover of night,

Our bracelets will never be as tightly knotted as before.

Being in your presence was never a chore,

Your family enveloped me as one of their own,

Surely our lives will entwine once more.

We cross paths, exchange surface level smiles, and sorrow knots around my core,

I miss you, I’m sorry. Do you feel this way too?

I tried to tie my bracelet tightly, but my wrist became sore

Surely our lives will entwine once more.

“Orange Streetlight”

Orange streetlight skin as I pass it,

The asphalt bears a name,

I still think of you a bit. 

Down a road dimly lit,

Bathed in the surreal, arcane

Orange streetlight skin as I pass it.

All your jokes, all your wit,

A shell, shadow you became,

I still think of you quite a bit.

I only saw it in shades, I admit,

What a shame!

Orange streetlight skin as I pass it.

Though I try to forget 

The feeling, the blame,

I still think of it a bit.

Eyes sore, searching they quit

Sink into the long burning flame 

Of orange streetlight skin as I pass it.

Waning marmalade, moonlit

Nights for the day that never came,

Orange streetlight skin as I pass it,

I still dream of you a bit.

“Sealing Thoughts”

I fold the page and hope it says enough,


Some words come easy, while others feel tough.
 The wax dries slow, the seal is strong and rough.

The pen feels heavy when the day is rough,
 But letters help when thoughts get in the way.
 I fold the page and hope it says enough.

I try to write, but sometimes it’s just fluff—


I hide the feelings I don’t know how to say.


The wax dries slow, the seal is strong and rough.

I wonder if they’ll read between the stuff,
 Or miss the meaning hidden in the sway.
 I fold the page and hope it says enough.

Each letter holds my thoughts, both light and gruff,
 With every line, I share what’s hard to play.


The wax dries slow, the seal is strong and rough.

The flame burns bright, the wax melts smooth and tough.
 Some words are easy; others hard to say.


I fold the page and hope it says enough.


The wax dries slow, the seal is strong and rough.

“Carthago delenda est”

Splattered in scarlet floury sand lays the Carthaginian crest,

Washed by cracked blood and your Roman inhumanity,

Maniacally you say, Carthago delenda est.  

Watch the great distance pride runs before falling like all of the finest,

Where you had sworn measures beyond ruin, to rid the city of all entity, 

So splattered in scarlet floury sand lays the Carthaginian crest. 

Swallowing a scalding surmise the Senate sears its spears to the west,

While rampage ropes your fragile imperator’s eyes into evil vacuity,

Maniacally you say, Carthago delenda est.  

Only for they rose grandiose and dared to expose riches in their chest,

How forlorn they were post second Punic war, for you to see threat in their prosperity,

Now, splattered in scarlet floury sand, lays the Carthaginian crest. 

Still hearts can beat stridently from underground, even as their bodies lay at rest, 

So surely unabashed you can cry in all of your glory, drip in acrid impurity, 

Maniacally you say, Carthago delenda est.  

Although those who besought eradication extraordinaire remained ignorant at best,

Of fate weaving their thirst into dried distorted delusions of immortality,

For splattered in scarlet floury sand lays the Carthaginian crest, 

And maniacally you still say, Carthago delenda est. 

The past is not dead- it is not even past-

It repeats and it circles and echoes in time

The future and past- naught but one- first and last

The Ourboros snake- ancient master of time-

Tail forever ensnared in its jaw

The past is not dead- it is not even past

The mistakes of the past all forgotten, erased

As we find them again, only different, rephrased

The future and past-naught but one- first and last 

This cycle of death and of life is forever

Ev'rlasting as long as the pendulum swings

The past is not dead -it is not even past-

The future and past- naught but one- first and last

“Be Sweet”

Be sweet, be true.

Rob me blindly of my fire

I will hate you.

The night shivers, becoming blue.

The day sings brightly of shame,

Be sweet, be true.

My heart wanders at your cue,

Running through the desert of your veins

I will hate you.

Dogs panting along the avenue,

The only words they know come from their masters,

Be sweet, be true.

I might never bid you adieu,

Your phrases seeped in black matter,

Be sweet, be true.

I will hate you.

“Easy to say”

Easy to say but unclear to see,

When I wake up next to you,

Something that means more to me,

You linger all day, heavy and starry, 

So lovestruck, and you had no clue,

Easy to say but unclear to see.

But I swear I’ve still got the key,

It’s always a question of wrong or right,

Something that means more to me.

I’m begging you to keep your hold on me,

Die for you, baby, I just might,

Easy to say but unclear to see.

I know you hear all of my pleas,

Despite all else, your smile still gleams so bright, 

Something that means more to me.

Your love is like a tease,

I just pray that you don’t bite,

Easy to say but unclear to see,

Something that means more to me.

“Orange Juice”

Early light cast over small hands pressing orange fruit,

Peels tower as the morning goes on,

Grown hands do the same as time takes root.

Large stringed bags of oranges in plenitude,

The orange stand is now a bygone,

Early light cast over small hands pressing orange fruit.

Juice turns bitter with accidental grapefruit,

Memories and stories are slowly timeworn,

Grown hands still do the same to stop time from taking root.

Youth come with feeling irresolute,

Bonds over citrus dawn,

Early light cast over small hands pressing orange fruit.

Getting older, not knowing what I may suit,

The simple task became forgone,

Yet, grown hands continue to do the same before time takes root.

I feel a sense of quietude,

As orange juice is now long gone,

Early light cast over small hands pressing orange fruit,

Grown hands do the same as time takes root.

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