Yeah, the comma after the end of the title isn’t a mistake. 

Tried to make this one a variation of the Petrarchian sonnet.

Laced with heart’s wild and warm-blooded

Hymns of praise and pure,

Stray thoughts spurt like a fountain top,

And all its sweetly pleasures do they rain.

You’re warmer than blood,

Closer than flesh,

I wish to the Aether each day afresh

That your revelation was not in vain.


Every spirit of the living air,

Every mirage holds a light

To your ghostly countenance

And breathes life into me anew.

It shimmies down my veins

Into yearnful elations

As I utter you my finest proclamations:

“Can I keep you?”

Muse, My Muse

I’ve been gathering ideas for a while. Now I present to you, my grand finale, my pièce de résistance, my…well, you know. 


There was a magic in the wind tonight,
Toned with a watchful violin strain
As the heartbeats of the wild join under the rein
Of its ruler, a descendant of the night.
Her footsteps bare and so light — so light!
For dreams in which I’m once more fain,
I’d catch you though in vain
Break the circle and she’s out of mind, out of sight

She struts the catwalks of the roof’d tippy tops,
Your boundless zest implores me to stay;
You’re a sinner’s divine intervention, I pray?
You embody my evening throes of art
For who else created your nymphish rite of twists and hops?
I’m afraid, Pixie, you sniggled your way into my heart!

And if you call for her, watch the stars adorn her windswept hair
As she clambers up the sky and sings “Kayama!” to the prince of the air.

Writer’s Reverie


Famous writers and the thinkers got some of their finest ideas from walks. I’m a writer myself, so I see how this applies.


Borne of summer strolls untold

Into evenings where countless stories unfold

The road ahead was void of cars

And I alone played an orchestra to the stars


They shined their blessings from celestial seats

Meanwhile, I looked beyond perennial streets

Pondering clues for my desired path

For answers to a writer’s insatiable wrath


A scent, a sight, a cricket in the stillness rang

And suddenly, my own image, out it sprang

It lived, it breathed, it wandered like me

But would a cold-stone world accept it with the same glee?


I still haven’t caught the muse hiding in evening black

But it’s time I head home and turn back

The gravel below crunched, but it wasn’t me

For I walk the footsteps of another, you see…



The Wolf

Composed this for a play within a friend group, and later recited it in a talent show in high school. Good times.



Sharp, dangerous teeth

Yet clear, wary eye

Creature is tough, fast and unique

As the moon reflects its howling cry.


Its solemn, dignified air

Makes it in all ways fair

Yet a terror to easy prey

Makes it a terror everlasting

For all who have this to say.


Yet the wolf is also faithful

To its pack and family.

Its sacrifice and diligence

Is forever a sight to see.


As the wolf continues to lead its pack

His skills to fight and survive will never lack.