Salt Pillars

I look back

I long to speak

My memories

Even though I was warned

I would turn to salt

If I looked back


Checking behind my boat

Looking at the reeds

Trying to see

That similar person

Who’s lifeline

Long split away from mine


Like tears

The water is salty

And I can’t physically

Go back

As the current

Only flows forward




In the amusement park of life

I mount a merry-go-round

I keep turning in the same direction

Does the circle have no end?

Kids and adults get on

And go off.


I met this person

On the merry-go-round

They said they would

Weather the ride with me

But when I looked back

They were gone.


Sounds echo into my mouth

As words fly by

Beating hearts cry

Does this break my fast of silence?


I called for them

Echoes did not


Like a shadow

Their presence grew and

Shrank in my mind

Until it was a button


At some point

After I had given all up for nought

It became


For them to visit the fair

See the merry-go-round again


But I feel cheated

I weathered

And now it is too late

For that person to hold my hand

That horse has rusted

And I daren’t turn back

To revive ties I took for broke

Least my tears

Turn me into

A pillar of salt


She’s Not a Penguin

A penguin

(sweet seeming

from your far off glance)

This chosen animal

is really not

your cuddly vision of it


Said the woman

In the bottle

“I want to be

Sweet seeming

I want to change.

I even look the part.”


But could she act the part?

The penguin waddled~

Tried to walk on wattle~

But fast.

She got angry!


The angry red

of the bowtie

on a penguin.




But wait.


don’t wear bow ties,

it’s a fake!


She’s not a penguin!

It’s not her nature!

It’s just habit.




“It hurts”



“I don’t want

to change,

it’s been so long

and I’ve gotten used to…


Always being-

En garde


“How can I

Be the kind person

you want


when I bare my beak

in fear

you will

As you always have



Into the snarling leopard seal



Zoo penguin~

Falls into old actions.


New actions


Will take


Cunning One

Winged knave

Shoes brush the sand

Stirring golden wave


Remembering land

Time spent in dim cavern

Shoes brush the sand


Tricks lack a pattern

No path to follow

Time spent in dim cavern


Hidden in hollow

Shiny things secreted

No path to follow


Are dice games cheated?

Snake eyes are staring

Shiny things secreted


Accused, glaring

Winged knave

Snake eyes are staring

Stirring golden wave

Spotted Wool

This single mammal,

was raised

as a ____ lamb.


But over the years that ___ness changed

into something else.

The lamb visited many schools and

each school

sought to dye the lamb’s wool

its own personal shade of personality.

Each location

tried to pull the wool

over the sheep’s eyes

in one way

or another.


After leaving each of the locations,

the sheep,

would go and cleanse in the native waters

of its homeland,

trying to look presentable.


But after each year,

each time the sheep bathed,

a little less of the dye

would be washed away.

So the sheep

became a spotty sheep.




Now, at each new potential place of belonging,

the sheep searches for

a herd of sheep

that match its wool patterns.

A herd of sheep

it can talk openly with.

A herd of sheep

with whom it can belong and migrate with.


But year after year,

this is becoming harder and harder;

too many changes

and too many flocks.

Will this sheep

ever find

a doppelgänger?


Or has the sheep been searching for

the wrong thing

this whole time?




Why Grow Ornamental Flowers?

Another pot,

tipped over and left to rot.

Another flower,

ripped out by the roots.


My flower garden is

as barren as Eve’s womb before

she left paradise.

But unlike the Eve of that time’s womb,

it is filled with stretch marks.


I have pots of fertilizer

and pitchers of water

at the ready, but

what is the point

if every flower I tend to

and love

will eventually

leave me?




I find the flower seed,

I cup it in my hands,

it tells me

that it is happy,

it says

it will be like

a cancerous tumor

and never leave me,

even in death.

But they all lie.


Is it me,

do I lack the much needed

green thumb?

Is my talk odious

and my carbon dioxide breath foul?


What’s the point

of raising beautiful flowers

that give me no


Would it be better

if I did not waste my time

on such fruitless endeavors

and instead spent my time

cultivating fruits and vegetables

for business?


But at the end of the day,

vegetables are meant to be

in the back of a produce van

or in my interior.


Flowers are like

pet dogs.

They need you

to feed them,

to love them,

and to clean up their messes.

A flower might not

run away in the exact same manner

abandon me

as a dog,

but it does leave me in its own way.

Sometimes they are picked.

Sometimes they blow away in the breeze.

Sometimes they simply wilt and die.




So what is the point,

of growing ornamental flowers?

It seems so futile a task.




I guess,

I just like,

beautiful things.

While flowers,

Like friendships

don’t always last for eternity,

when I have them,

it seems like a happy


But then,

it’s gone~