The Church & the Park (a drawing)

Here’s another one of my art therapy drawings. Like many people, I love old churches, especially ones with big steeples and clocks. I also like this drawing because of the wide expanse of the grassy area.

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Project Z (a poem)

Was it your fate to be imprisoned here?

You sit in the lotus position, clear your mind,

practicing techniques The Collective taught you –

remember that Project Z must be defended,

Portia will penetrate your puny brain, drain

your memories to catch a glimpse of vital data,

the antidote to utter control over Techno-City.

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The ‘Portia’ Cycle of Poems

I’ve been writing a series of poems that are inter-connected around the same narrative. This series started with the poem “Portia,” which was published in Bewildering Stories and which I’ve posted on the blog.

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When Democracy Died (a poem)

When democracy died, I was reading Kafka –

gunshots blared + factions fought for ideals

they thought worth dying for –

TVs tuned to Washington +

the White House went dark,

troops marched + destroyed dissidents.

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Meditating in the Mountains (a drawing)

Here’s a drawing from my sketchbook from about a year ago. I like how this one turned out! I have a small Buddha statue in my bedroom, which was the model for the drawing. I like how calm and serene the Buddha looks in this drawing, and I also like how the coloring turned out.

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Sainthood (a poem)

What happened to the woman who

was nearly stoned to death?

Jesus said to not sin again,

but if she’s like me, she was

back in sweaty sheets later that day,

engaged in sinful acts – it’s a fact that

we’re far from saints + sainthood is

a hatred of humanity

but Jesus was half-God,

so it’s not so odd to believe

He died for me + whether I sin today

or tomorrow doesn’t matter much

because grace is free

(Photo by Laura Allen on Unsplash)

Church Basements (a poem)

A teacher told my mother I’d join a cult –

that was in the ‘90s + twenty years later,

I was a recovery zealot, driving through

snowstorms to share my sorrows with

strangers, always thinking I was in danger,

fighting my impulses + a mind that

seemed to want me dead.

(Photo by Karl Fredrickson on Unsplash)

Buried Treasure (a poem)

Buried deep in this sea, there is ancient treasure –

it’s been hidden for ages, from a sunken ship

that carried gold and human remains,

but all that remains

are brittle bones, skulls + chests filled with fortune –

I’ll dive deep + discover it, even if it kills me,

bring it back to this sandy shore so I can

explore this coastline dotted with land mines

from a distant war – the war that took my father + tore

this island nation to pieces: the woman wailing,

lonely in their huts without their husbands +

the children afraid of the night

when mutant-men prowl swamplands of death

+ devour human and beast alike.

(Photo by Max Okhrimenko on Unsplash)

Skeleton Key (a poem)

I want to trace my family’s history,

go back + find out how we got here –

there was a suicide in the ‘70s, a wound

we carry but do not discuss –

secrets hide in the shadows

+ who knows how they affect us.

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