This poem was selected for PoetTreeTown2023
I know I’m indecisive, but I think I know how I feel. I feel just a little confused, but I know how I feel, I think. I think I feel too much, I know. This is just how I am. I am, I believe, how I like. I feel like I think I know I am how I like, I believe. - Sappy
Wonderful
splintering saplings
adrift soon apart
of something sorrowful
sounding absentmindedly
in the oak orchard
away from the city
near the stream
on the hill
where we were
wanton and wonderful
The air feels cool, not cold
And I think this time
It might be here to stay
The Diag corner canopies now filled with
Reds, yellows, and pinks budding
Even as the sun hides behind
The walls of windswept clouds
As the day goes on
Rain turning to mist turning to
Fog that covers the entire street below
I still think my windowsill garden
Growing each day with
Spiral-potted sprouting succulents
Orchids in an amanita green glass vase
Mushrooms resting dormant
And chamomile seeds yet to split
Will carry on
I got a real rose from a paper garden
As my goodbye from the theatre
And until I find a vase
I improvise with plastic
And a good bit of tap water
But I think it holds up well
Because this garden is far more
Stumbling than sowing
But in the end, I still think it grows
And more often than not
I see a patch of blue in the sky
This poem has been posted outside Avalon Cafe & Bakery for PoetTreeTown2024
Longitude To see past the horizon, your poker face blocking the farthest secrets, is what I wish upon a star. No matter the angle, your one-sidedness makes me curious about your constellation of 88 thoughts. Are you a Scorpio? I examine telescopically, but the milky way, the nebulas in your eyes draw me over the moon, and the slightest glance away carries seasonal depression. So before this unknowing atmosphere suffocates me, although my heart beating ultraviolet already is, I’m confessing out of the blue. - Sappy
Shadow
can one recognize their shadow
and still be afraid
that it may one day walk off
split from the soul
leave one halved and carrying the weight
of such a loss
of the darkest parts of the self
Tropical shirts and impromptu strings
And a dragon to watch over it all
Plastic ivy wrapped round found/fashioned staves
Tipped with hot-glue pinecones
Dancing screams filling the aisles
Green stars shooting into my eyes
Onto the curtains behind
A place where a rubber chicken
Is a great and terrible power
Paper carefully planted in plots
And watercolor paints
As a library is carried to the seats
And very soon that paper will bloom from
Blank black floors of the stage
That rise to fill the space
When the lights go out
And when they return
The dust rises in a dozen beams
And the show begins
