This poem was originally written as an assignment for one of my poetry classes in college, but I have always loved it as more than just something I “had to do…”

Poetry Journal: Contemplations Two

I am the compere, look at me – ignore the movement of the periphery 

Dressed in red, but sequined to be color-unidentifiable

It’s all about the distraction of the eye- if you don’t look, you won’t see

The shadowed movement serving, all feeding back into the show

Give me lights, give me camera, give me action; any more perspective you could throw

It is my art and my burden, my lie and my curtin – it is the only life I know

So I smile bright, and big and white – I dive into their emotion

The ooohs and aaahs, their sighs and laughs – their response my motivation

I feel their attention enter in through my pores – the cycle of energy ever returning

Their addiction a mere distraction, as my reason is facade

Yet we feel for each other a love for which Right itself has no claim

It’s that dangerous delusion, the tingle between your legs – it’s the daring leap for freedom as the train careens for the track’s sudden end

Like breathing, it’s like feeling, it’s like a child taking it all in…

And with each temporary beauty – the eternal is felt anew once again

So with the eyes like penetration, they watch my each and every move – their focus, my undulation; their quiver to drive me forward

Now give me your applause! Let the lightning and the shock, let the melting, let the hum…

my heart is a garden

bursting with blooms

shining emerald brilliance


buds, petals and blossoms 

rejoicing in their cool

milky-pink rose quartz glow


fairies and fae folk 

dancing and singing

round an endless fountain 


love abundant, pouring

from the endless depths 

of my eternal soul

Dedicated to my beloved global tribe. Thank you all for helping me expand my understanding of love, again and again. You bless me endlessly –

The way you love me

breaks all the rules

friend-zoned by choice 

no expectations, no fools


Holding space for my disasters 

seeing beauty in this monster

you reflect the best of me

and we’re simply happy together


Long conversations, every time

no topic off limits, no judgements

healthy verbal coprocessing

filled with appreciative sentiments


You rekindle my innocence

with the warmth of your smile

unassuming and genuine

never baited or on trial


I’ve heard this was impossible

of course I believe in magick

you’ve given me back my voice

singing forgotten songs back


I want to kiss you all over

like a child kisses their teddy

I want to go on adventures

give you the world if you’d let me


No shame in these pure feelings

no expectations to create taint

the distance between us imagined

only serving to help us appreciate


You are my beloved and I yours

nothing I have ever restricted

as you equally share all you can

together we are truly unlimited


So take my hand my friend

lay your head on my chest

let me stroke your hair a bit

show all how we love best

I’m not the most nostalgic person. Or so I’ve always thought.

I don’t have keepsakes or buy myself souvenirs when I travel (though for others is a different story). I’ve enjoyed getting older and truly believe the best is yet to come. Yet, I also still have friends from childhood and revel in memories often.

Today I saw an old friend. I drove my niece and nephew to hang out with her and her kids. It’s actually been several years since we’ve really even hung out, yet, we picked up like we never skipped a beat.

We talked about the past – memories and nostalgia. We swapped stories of thens and nows, catching each other up on various things. Surprisingly unsurprised that our paths shared similarities even as time and space had separated us.

Despite everything, all the changes and differences we’ve undertaken, what we shared in the past was no more real than our connection now. The nostalgia was underwhelming because the present was fully enveloping.

So perhaps that’s it? I’ve never really felt nostalgic because I’ve never truly felt better about the past than I do the present. Granted, I’ve markedly and purposefully improved my life so there is some bias as well, but I find the possibility interesting enough to keep exploring.

Perhaps that’s also why tradition has never felt quite right to me either.

I’ve always wondered why just because something has been done, it should continue to be done. I was a terror at holidays, always refusing to participate in decorating or festivities because no one could tell me why we were doing them. The Christmas tree was the worst: “why are we killing a tree? Why do we bring it inside? Why are we decorating? Why does the whole family come over?”

Interestingly, once I could apply present purpose to the seasonal commotion I became a much jollier person. Paganism taught me about Yule and Saturnalia, and suddenly bringing greenery and raising the spirits of your loved ones through shared meals made sense. The ancient customs weren’t about religion as much as combating what we now call seasonal affective disorder. We celebrate to inspire joy, and that makes sense to me so I’m perfectly content now.

I missed my friend Heather. I could’ve talked myself out of reaching out to her, I have before, but I didn’t. I could’ve just been nostalgic, but I made my feelings something actionable instead. I’ve brought the past and the present together, creating more opportunities of the same in the future, and I’m grateful I did.

I don’t want to think about how things were or could have been, I want to create my bliss in every moment. Even if that means doing more about what I’m tempted to miss or iconify.

sitting: mostly behaved

mostly silent, in a corner


watching: everything

the movement all over


wispers trickle through

twining twisted wickedness


voices about voices

words about words


caught up in our meta

we: beta: creating data


obsessed with: making

meaning from dry bones


our blood: running both

hot and cold; no warmth


too many passions to be

passionately free – simply


yet, here is the “somehow”

we have the real magick


sure we’re still playing, but

at least we know: we’re playing!


we know enough to “cheat”

we know how to challenge


and challenge, oh, we do

we challenge ourselves


ever tearing open, just to bleed

falling to feel the air beneath us


taking risk after risk, forever

daring fortune to favor us –